𓊆西村力 x fem reader𓊇 💌 semi-public sex, lowkey exhibitionism, grinding/dry humping, messy kiss, make out, nipples sucking, tits playing, cumming in pants, riki is freaky, biting, blonde riki, non-proofread
𓆩♡𓆪 i miss nishimura riki so much ... also + vgg's sequel...? idk...
the cursor blinked unmoved on the screen while your fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to type the next sentence.
then the mattress dipped behind you.
your boyfriend, riki, was never the kind to ask for anything. he wanted something—? he’ll have it regardless. he climbed onto the bed, crawled over your legs, and dropped his full weight across your lap like a very large, very determined puma–cat.
one arm slid easily around your waist, locking you in place. his handsome face pressed into the soft space just under your ribs, warm breath fanning against bare skin when your shirt had ridden up.
he let out a low, contended hum and nuzzled deeper, the tip of his nose dragging slowly across your tummy.
“ki, it tickles…” you murmured, fingers pausing over the keyboard.
riki ignored you completely.
his mouth opened—soft, deliberate kisses bloomed across your skin. at first light and teasing, then firmer, lingering. his other arm naughtily slid up your bare back beneath the loose fabric of his shirt you were wearing—broad, warm palm spanning your spine until his slender fingers found the clasp of your bra.
he toyed with the hooks absently, stroking the thin band of fabric—never quite opening it… yet.
you tried to keep typing, focusing on the words despite the funny feeling in your tummy.
“i’m doing my work…”
his lips curved against your tummy. “just keep doing it, baby. i’m not botherin’ you.” another slow kiss, right beside your navel. then followed by the warm, wet drag of his tongue follow the same path.
a tiny shiver ran through you.
“yes, you are…”
he lifted his head just enough to speak against your skin, voice low. “how so?”
before you could answer, riki kissed lower, then licked a deliberate stripe across the softest part, just between your tummy folds. the sensation was electric—with the roughness of the surface of his tongue.
“hey—it tickles!” you gasped, a helpless giggle escaping as your tummy fluttered. you instantly tried to pry his head away with both hands, fingers sliding into his blonde locks.
but riki’s hold around you was stronger—he only grunted softly and bit under the spot he’d just licked. his incisors and canines dug into your flesh—the sudden pressure and light pain made you yelp, hips twitching under his weight.
your hands tightened in his hair, gripping hard enough to tilt his head back. he let you, dark eyes gleaming as they locked onto yours. you looked down at him, cheeks warm, expression (as seen in riki’s eyes) adorably mad, lips parting for the lecture—
“riki, you can’t do—”
—and that was the exact moment his fingers finally unhooked the clasp.
your bra loosened with a soft snap, straps going slack against your shoulders. riki never looked away from your face as he did it—a slow little smile curving his mouth—right before he dove in.
your boyfriend pushed the hem of your—his—shirt up and buried his face underneath the fabric, vanishing from sight. his mouth closed over your nipple, making your back arch and your shoulders hit the wall behind you.
a startled breath left you as the fabric of your shirt tented over the distinct shape of riki’s head, shifting and moving and pressing as he moved deeper.
his large hands roamed freely across your bare back, palm broad and warm, fingers splaying between your shoulder blades to hold you in place against the wall. under the shirt, he took your nipple into his mouth.
“o—oh gosh, ki—!”
his tongue circled, flicked—the tip pressed into your little nipple ‘till it sunk back into your breast—then he pressed his tongue flat. the suction pulling a soft sound from your throat.
the outline of his head moved beneath as he switched to the other side. due to the limited space, you could feel every shift: the brush of his nose, the scrape of his subtle facial hair, his hot breath against your wet tits as he bit around the peak before soothing it with another deep suck.
“fuck,” riki grunted, his free hand slid up your spine, then one hand came around to cup and play with the tit he wasn’t currenly claiming, thumb stroking the underside with his mouth assaulted the other.
you tilted your head up against the wall, fingers itching and twitching against the back of his head through your shirt, tangled where his head moved, the other hand buried in his hair through the material.
every time riki sucked harder, your tits rose and fell with his mouth, the whole front of your shirt alive with the restless motion of your selfish boyfriend claiming what he’d decided was his.
——
nishimura riki might be the most shameless person you’d ever met.
“ki… we can’t do it here…”
“hngh—why not?”
the study pod was one of the smaller ones on the fourth floor—glass walls only on the door, the only clear view. from outside, all anyone would see was riki’s broad back and the vague outline of someone on his lap. that was the entire extent of his caution.
in his defense, people barely came to this floor, anyway—so all was well.
you sat between his spread thighs, back flush against his chest. his arms were already around you, as they belonged. one hand splayed low across your tummy, keeping you pressed tight to him. the other curled under your jaw from behind and tilting your head back against his shoulder until your throat was bared and your face was angled toward his.
“i—if we’re caught, we could get expelled…” you whispered.
he answered with a low, rough sound against the side of your neck. “uh huh?”
riki obviously couldn’t give two fucks 'bout it.
‘cause just after that, he rolled his hips upward. the hard line of his cock dragged against the curve of your ass through the thin layers of your jeans and his, the pressure blatant. his fingers tightened under your jaw, forcing your head higher, and then his mouth was on yours from above.
he kissed you like the glass door didn’t exist. like the two of you weren’t in a public setting. tongue sliding deep, lips parting yours wider—soft wet sound so loud in the quiet pod. every time you tried to shift, he grinded up harder, the thick length nestling between your cheeks as he rocked in a filthy rhythm.
his thumb stroked along the hinge of your jaw while he kissed you deeper, swallowing the soft, helpless noise that escaped you.
your hands gripped his thighs on either side of you, fingers digging into his chrome hearts jeans. from the hallway, it would look like nothing more than a disgustingly pda-obsessed couple studying together—with riki’s back blocking almost everything.
but if the people came a little closer—be a little nosy and peeked just more than what they should—they would see far more than they bargained for.
they would see the way his hips kept rolling upward in slow circles, the thick, strained outline of his cock grinding hard between the cheeks of your ass, denim pulling tight. they would notice how the front of your jeans had already darkened at the seams where you sat pressed against him.
a shameless evidence of how much his shamelessness was affecting you.
and they would definitely see your face.
the way riki held your jaw from behind, his fingers drumming against your throat, keeping your head tilted back so he could kiss you as deeply as he wanted. his tongue fucking and thrusting into your mouth like it’s his cock.
mixed saliva had already begun to gather at the corner of your mouth—with every deep slide of his tongue, a thin, glistening trail slipped and dripped down the side of your chin and onto your blouse.
“mmh, ngh—” you muffled helplessly as riki sucked your tongue into his mouth, lips sealed around the organ. wet, filthy sound of it—like a cock fucking a drenched cunt—filled the quiet pod.
he didn’t just kiss, he fed on it.
his tongue fucked past your teeth in thorough strokes, then curled to pull your tongue into his mouth so he could suck on it again. another thick bead of spit spilled over the corner of your lips and trailed down your chin.
all the while his hips never stopped.
you could feel him throbbing through the layers, the heat of him almost burning. his arm around your waist tightened, fingers digging into your soft tummy as he toyed with the hem of your bra. his rhythm stuttered.
a broken moan vibrated against your tongue. riki’s grinding turned more erratic—once, twice, three hard upward thrusts that pressed the full, rigid shape of his cock deep between your cheeks—
then he came.
you felt it.
the sudden, hot pulse of him spilling inside his own expensive jeans, the wet heat spreading against your ass as he kept grinding through it, riding out every thick spurt with short, involuntary jerks of his hips.
riki’s mouth never left yours.
even as he came, he kept sucking and kissing, messy and open like neither of you knew how to kiss.
he only broke the kiss when the last tremor faded, lips wet and shining, forehead pressed to your temple as he breathed hard against your skin.
“still think we can’t?” he rasped, rolling his hips once more to let you feel the sticky mess he’d just made in his pants.
yeah.
your boyfriend is the most shameless person you'd ever met.
“It’s worse?” Ni-ki asks, letting his bag fall to the floor carelessly as he makes his way over to you.
His hand comes up to your forehead; he doesn’t have to keep it there for long to confirm what you’re saying, you’re not warm—you’re burning.
“Maybe a-“ he begins, pulling his hand back less than a centimeter before you grab his wrist with both of your hands and pull it back towards you.
He forgets whatever he was about to say—too distracted by the way you place his palm against your cheek and lean into it.
“What’s this, hmm?” He asks, bringing his other hand up to cup the other side.
“Your hands are cold…” you say, sounding pleased.
“Feels good?” He asks, squishing your face a little between his palms.
You nod, scrunching your face a little at the subtle burn the differences in temperature between you and him cause.
“Have you thought about putting your heating pack in the freezer?” He asks, moving his hands lower so they’re both wrapped around and covering your neck as much as they can.
Which is a lot; but that’s not surprising when you think about how big his hands are.
“It worked like you said it would, but it doesn’t last very long…” you whine softly, pushing his right hand so it comes around your neck and down your back under your shirt.
This is fine and all, but his hands won’t be cold for much longer—you need a cold shower.
“I know what would help…” he says softly, slowly pulling his hands back to ease you out of it.
“I can’t keep taking showers,” you say, interrupting him before he can continue, “it’s a waste of water…”
“Well…” he sighs, finally pulling his hands off and tucking them under his arms to make them unavailable.
“Wearing long sleeves, pants, AND socks isn’t going to help.” He says, taking in your outfit.
“I’ll put the pack in the fridge for you again.” He ruffles your hair a little before he walks away, grabbing the heating pack off the bed as he passes by it.
₊‧⁺♱ ───
This interaction doesn’t file away in his mind because it was so random that he didn’t think it was important.
Not even when you fall asleep that night with your arms as far up under his shirt as you can manage them.
But he starts to think about it after he gets back home the next day and finds you worse off than the day before; and he knows it was bad, because you’re lying in bed in nothing but your shirt and underwear.
“I have to believe you’re not taking your medicine,” Ni-ki scolds gently, a measuring hand against your forehead.
“I am…”
Ni-ki pulls back despite your whines, digging through the nightstand beside you for the thermometer.
“We’re making a doctor’s appointment if it’s over 100…” he says, “ahh…”
You part your mouth a little, but he squishes your cheeks with his hand to open your mouth just a little more.
Once the stick rests under your tongue, he slowly sits beside you on the edge of the bed.
It takes a minute for it to take your temperature, and when it does, you whine a little at the loud indicator.
“99.3” Ni-ki reads out, too amused to lie about it and say it was at 100.
“I’m fine…” you assure, curling up into him.
Even through his jeans, he can feel how warm your face is.
“I’ll feel a lot better if you cuddle with me…” you add cheekily, eyes opening only then to look at him and try and guilt trip into doing it.
Ni-ki sighs, a small nod as he decides to give you this just until you eventually fall asleep again.
You’re naturally clingy, so it makes sense that you’d be the same way even when you’re sick.
But at least under normal circumstances, you’ll ask for it; unlike here where you either expect it or straight up initiate it without warning.
But it could be worse.
You could be denying him being able to lay in bed at night from the fever.
Then again, he has to sleep without a blanket at night because you’re strapped to him like a koala…
So maybe it’s up there…
Still, it only happens once he comes back home after being out doing what he has to do for almost 12 hours, so it’s still tolerable.
₊‧⁺♱ ───
You sit across from him, slouching a significant amount to reach where you want to.
Your feet start to mess with his shirt, and it draws him away from the tv.
“What are you doing…?” Ni-ki asks, watching for the most part.
“Nothing…” you mumble, biting your lip slightly in concentration.
You slip one of your feet under his shirt, and use it to pull it up and slide the other in.
His abdomen contracts a little against the feeling, then goosebumps form around where your feet press into his stomach.
“I love you, princess…but you’re really weird…” he sighs, his hand coming up to rub your leg nonetheless.
You frown a little, shifting in your place to wrap one of your legs over and the other under one of his.
It’s like you don’t even care that his own foot could touch your face if he extended it out a little.
You’d think you’d eventually explain it to him, but you fall asleep like this instead.
And eventually, your fever starts affecting him through the layers of clothes and with multiple parts of your bare skin against his.
Once he started feeling a little stuffy because of it, he tried to move so you wouldn’t wake up but he could get out of this position.
Except he couldn’t—you were holding on too tightly.
This is what it took to realize what you were doing; using him as some oversized cooling pad whenever you pleased.
If the conditions were any different, he wouldn’t mind.
But it’s already warm enough in the day.
He can’t deal with the additional heat of your fever that radiates off you like a portable heater.
This is the last time.
There needs to be boundaries.
₊‧⁺♱ ───
“Hey-“ Ni-ki says nervously, his phone forgotten at his side as he props himself up slightly on his elbows.
You don’t seem to care; settling between his legs as you wrap your arms around him and lay against his chest.
Only you aren’t just trying to cuddle normally.
You’re now stuffed under his shirt, pressing against his bare skin for the same reasons you’ve been all over him these last three days.
“Baby, you’re going to stretch my shirt out.” He says, trying to figure out how this could possibly be appealing to you.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” you say, voice muffled.
Then you inhale deeply, tickling him a little when you exhale against his abdomen, causing him to tense up for a moment.
“You smell good…” you add softly.
Okay…
Maybe just for a little…
You’re not so warm today anyway.
So he lays back again, hands on his sides to not suffocate you or make you feel too constrained.
And when it eventually starts to feel like he’s lying on a grill, being cooked on just this one side, he can’t help but bring it up.
“You’re a little warm…can you move?” He asks carefully, watching the blob that is you under his shirt.
A second later, you’re slowly coming out of his shirt, sitting back on your heels between his legs with a pout.
“Why are you being mean…” you ask, hair staticky and a little messed up.
“I’m not trying to be,” he promises, cupping your face with one hand, “but you’re really warm…like, really warm.”
You’d think he just said something meant as a personal attack against you.
In reality, all he said was he’d go get you your pack to cool off.
Yet when he leaves to go get it from the kitchen, and then returns not even a minute later, you’re no longer on the couch.
He finds you in bed, back turned towards the door and pointed at a small desk fan you’ve placed on your nightstand.
“Where do you want it?” He asks, tossing the pack between his hands to preserve its coolness.
You don’t say anything, you just hold your arm out behind you, asking for it without actually saying anything.
You won’t be upset for long, better to not get into it now.
“I’ll be watching tv still.” He says, walking away once you pull the pack towards you.
You huff behind him; clearly, you expected him to take it back and do what you want him to do.
₊‧⁺♱
Of course, he can’t actually stay away forever.
Eventually it’s late enough that it’s time for bed and he needs to go to sleep early.
This time, you’re lying in the middle of the bed, curled up on a pillow that has your pack under your cheek.
It’s probably thawed out by now, so that can’t be comfortable.
“Scoot over, princess…” he says softly, not wanting to bug you too much while he stays up to connect his phone to its charger.
You move more onto your side of the bed, watching him as he slides into his side.
He catches you, then sighs a little as the guilt starts to eat at him.
“C’mere…” he says, extending his arm out so you’ll come closer and use it as a pillow.
You’re quick to move, as if he’d change his mind and not let you.
A quick kiss to your forehead once you’re clinging to him, and he truly believes this will be the end of it.
Except it’s hard to fall asleep when you spend almost 10 minutes picking at his shirt and tracing lines into his side over it.
He tries to ignore it at first, but you bring it up as you start to move like you’re going to prop yourself up.
But you don’t say anything, you just stare at him, like he should know better.
“As much as I’d love to be able to, I can’t read your mind, baby” Ni-ki sighs, stretching his arm out as soon as you come up on your hands.
He’s past the ticklish buzz—his arm is gone—there’s no moving it until all the blood starts flowing back into it.
“Can you take your shirt off…it’s not helping…” you say softly, a small frown.
It should be impossible for anyone to reach the levels of internal temperature you’re at; yet as much as he feels for you, he physically cannot stand you right now.
“What if it’s you and all your clothes?” He asks, getting snarky before the feverish, helpless way you look at him finally gets to him.
He sighs again, this time sitting up to do what you asked him to.
Before his shirt even hits the ground, you’re coming up behind him.
You settle down behind him, wrap your arms around his neck from behind, and lay your head on his shoulder.
It’s going to take a while before it starts to bother him, especially since this is the first time you’ve thought to cool yourself off on his back.
“Mmm…baby…?” You call out, nuzzling into his shoulder a little.
“Yeah, baby?”
Now that he finds you endearing again, his hand comes up behind him to rest on your thigh, offering a cold hand there.
“Talk to me like you talked to me today again, and I’ll have all your things waiting for you outside the next time you’re at work.” You say it so casually; the same raspy, but soft voice your sore throat causes you.
“Y’know…since it’s such a hassle for you that I keep asking.” You add, a quick kiss on his shoulder blade.
Ni-ki purses his lips slightly, a small nod as he pats your thigh.
“I can’t wait for you to get better…” he mumbles, reaching for his phone with his other hand.
Instead, it’s smacked out of his hand by one of yours before the free hand is positioned on your other thigh.
𓊆박성훈 x fem reader𓊇 hold me, kiss me. whisper sweetly that you love me forever. hold me, kiss me. whisper sweetly that you love me forever. hold me, kiss me. whisper sweetly that you love me forever.
part two of two ― read part one
⤫ 28253 ⤫ ― based & inspired on the movie: obsession (2026), heavily major spoiler alert: warnings, style, plot. ― gore, body horror, psychological horror, incel horror, cannibalistic themes, supernatural obsession, graphic violence, self-harm + mentioned of razor on wrist, suicide, toxic co-dependency, coercive control, drugs & alcohol use, smut, technically sex with a demon, blood, mentions of cuts, animal death (cat), profanity, mental health themes, dubcon, noncon sexual content, missionary, cowgirl, blowjob, please let me know if i've missed any!
⊹ 𐙚⋆˙˚ oh my gosh... i meant to do this in 15k but i accidentally doubled the amount haha... omg enjoy... :"( i hope it's not as shit as i think it is ajneabse i've proofread this like ONCE. p/s: i love this movie so fucking much it's sickening and unhealthy... please don't forget to leave your comments, thoughts, and inboxes :(( it makes me so happy!!!
being with you was even better than sunghoon had ever imagined.
you were so different than what he’d expected—warmer, more openly affectionate, almost clingy in the sickest, sweetest way possible. the girl who used to be shy and reserved with her feelings now looked at him like he was the center of her universe.
it was intoxicating.
the two of you were making breakfast together in his kitchen. you stood behind him while he cooked eggs, arms wrapped around his bare waist, chin resting on his shoulders as you hummed. every few seconds you’d press a kiss to his neck or cheek.
sunghoon laughed softly when you stole a piece of fruit from the cutting board.
“you’re gonna eat everything before it’s done, baby,” he teased, squeezing your hands on his tummy. you giggled and kissed his jaw, pressing you chest against his back.
“can’t help it… you look so cute when you’re cooking.”
you both ended up eating at the counter—you sitting on the top and sunghoon standing in between your legs as you fed him pieces of bacon. he laughed at how cute you looked, and you giggled at his terrible jokes.
it felt domestic.
at work, you two couldn’t keep your hands off each other.
in the breakroom, sunghoon had you pressed against the wall, kissing you deeply. your hands were in his hair, pulling him closer as you moaned softly into his mouth. you made the breakroom like his bedroom.
jake walked in at the wrong moment. he froze, eyes wide, then quickly looked away with a muttered, “jesus christ…” before backing out. he found it odd. weird, bizarre even to see sunghoon and you… but you, especially in this state.
he supposed he didn’t know you enough—despite knowing each other since the earliest days of jake’s life.
haewon, who had been right behind him, looked visibly uncomfortable, eyebrows furrowed as she turned and left without a word.
you and sunghoon didn’t even notice. or even if either of you did—no fucks were given.
on the floor, you were “checking out cds” together—but really, it mostly meant him standing behind you with his arms around your waist as the two of you decided which movie to watch for the night.
even during his band practice time that you’d tag along—sunghoon spent most of it teaching you how to use his electric guitar, sitting on his lap with your back pressed flashed against his chest, sunghoon’s arms wrapped around your waist.
his members would give him a look, and so did your girl friends who shared the room.
it’s weird. it’s unlikely.
every night was spent together under the sheets.
you loved kissing him. you could do it for hours, everywhere, anywhere—slow, deep kisses that turned hungry, soft pecks all over his face, neck, chest, or just lying there with your lips pressed against his for long moments.
you’d pull him on top of you, legs wrapped around his waist, whispering i love you between kisses like it you couldn’t bear even an inch of space between your bodies.
sunghoon wasn’t complaining. not even a little.
he had never been this happy.
waking up with you curled into his side, making breakfast together while you hugged him from behind, stolen kisses, falling asleep with your head on his chest every night—it felt like a dream he never wanted to wake up from. the constant affection, the way you looked at him… it filled every empty space he’d carried.
days turned into weeks.
and now it had been almost two months together.
“acoustic guitar?”
you and sunghoon were sitting across from each other at a small table by the window, sharing a plate of pastries and drinks. your fingers were playing with his hand on the table—tracing his knuckles, interlacing your fingers, gently squeezing every few seconds.
you genuinely couldn’t stop touching him.
sunghoon chuckled softly, watching the way your pretty manicured fingers traced the lines on his palm. “yeah. the band’s been doing mostly acoustic sets now. the electric stuff is fun but… i don’t know, it feels different when it’s just the guitar. personal, i guess?”
you nodded, still playing with his fingers. were you even listening?
“i like when you play acoustic. your voice sounds really nice like that.”
“you think s—”
RING—!
sunghoon glanced down to his phone with its screen facing upwards—seeing jake’s contact. he simply acknowledged it before flipping his phone.
the conversation flowed easily as it should between two lovers—about his band’s past gigs, practice, and whether he should start his own project since the band wasn’t as active anymore.
“you should,” you said, eyes sparkling. you squeezed his hand, nails lightly digging into his flesh. “you’d be amazing leading your own band. i wanna come to every show—wanna follow you everywhere you go.”
sunghoon smiled, warmth spreading through his chest.
“of course you will.”
you picked up a piece of bread, tore a small chunk, and fed it to him with your fingers. sunghoon accepted it, lips brushing against your fingertips. he was about to do the same for you when his phone buzzed on the table.
jake was calling, again.
sunghoon sighed. “hold on, baby. it’s the second time he’s called now. i’ll be quick.”
he excused himself from the table and stepped outside to take the call.
you watched him go, your expression shifting. your smile faded. a subtle annoyance flickered across your face as you stared at him walking away, fingers tapping lightly, impatiently on the table.
“what?” he answered, a little impatient. “i’m busy.”
“busy with yn?”
sunghoon sighed. “what do you want?"
there was a beat of hesitation on the other line.
“okay, so…” jake started. “i haven’t told anyone because i don’t know how true this goes, but i went to yn’s house the other day to pass some pie. her grandma was asking where yn is.”
sunghoon frowned, “your point?”
“she thinks yn lives with me. thought she was sick of her. i didn’t tell her what yn said about her kicking her out but… something’s going on.”
sunghoon glanced back at you. you were staring in his direction, smiling in an unnatural, almost too–wide way. he gave a small wave. you waved back, smiling.
jake continued, voice lower. “and plus, this is just so weird, man… i’ve never seen her acting this way. i didn’t even know she liked you.”
that ticked sunghoon off—he didn’t like that. so what if it was fucking weird? so what if jake didn’t know you liked sunghoon? jake didn’t need to know everyfuckingthing there is to know in this world. just because you and him were childhood friends, it doesn’t mean you need to tell him everything.
his grip on the phone tightened. “what the hell are you trying to say?”
a beat.
“i’m just saying it’s weird,” jake replied carefully. “i’m happy for you two, really. but it’s… it’s like yn snapped into a different person.”
sunghoon looked back at you again. you were still staring at him with that same unwavering smile. it was as if you didn’t stop smiling, at all.
jake kept going. “i don’t know what’s going on with her… or you… but i think you guys should be apart for a while. she literally hasn’t been home.”
a beat.
“hello? sunghoon?”
call ended.
sunghoon hung up and slowly walked back to the table. he was annoyed, slightly shocked, and trying hard to hide it. his mind was still replaying jake’s words.
you looked up with him with that soft, adoring smile.
“everything okay, baby?”
he sat down, forcing a small nod. “um, yeah.”
you tilted your head, watching him carefully.
“actually, do you…”
“mmmhm…?” you hummed, leaning forward slightly. sunghoon hesitated, then shook his head. “nothing.”
you studied him for a second longer before smiling again. “hm, okay…. i have something for you.”
you reached into your bag and pulled out a small red box, sliding it across the table toward him.
sunghoon blinked. “what’s this?”
“...open it.”
he hesitated for a moment, fingers hovering over the box, before finally opening it. inside was a beautiful gem—a deep, dark onyx with flecks that caught the light. it was attached to a simple silver chain, clearly old but well–cared for.
“oh… wow,” he murmured, genuinely surprised.
you smiled gently. “it was my grandma’s… then my mom’s, then mine. but i want to give it to you.”
sunghoon looked up at you, confused. “why are you giving it to me?”
you reached across the table and gently took his hand. “well… it’s important to me. and so are you—but you’re way more important.”
sunghoon looked at the onyx in his palm, then back at you. “you sound like you love me,” he said, heaf–teasing, half–testing.
you gave him an eerier, almost creepy smile—too wide, too unwavering, full of teeth. “hoonie… i love you so much. i love you more than anyone else.”
the way you said it sent a chill down his spine.
he tried to keep his voice light. “you’d be sad without me?”
you didn’t even hesitate. “i could die.”
the silence that followed was heavy. sunghoon played with the stone between his fingers, the weight of your words sinking in. then, what jake had said slipped into his mind.
i’ve never seen her acting this way. i didn’t even know she liked you.
yn’s grandma thought she was sick of her.
“yn?”
“yeah?”
“did your grandma really kick you out?”
a beat.
you blinked. then you started chuckling—low, strange sound that quickly turned into scoffing. you stood up from the table abruptly.
“no, no, no, no, no…”
sunghoon looked up at you, confused. “what?”
you raised your voice, almost childlike in your denial. “nooooo, don’t you do that!”
the entire restaurant went quiet. heads turned, the uncomfortable tension was immediate—all eyes on your table, whispers began scattering around in the space.
sunghoon stayed seated but reached out, gently grabbing your hand.
“what? baby, calm down. let’s sit first, please?”
your eyes were twitching, and so were your fingers—gripping into the hem of your pretty sweater. “why does it matter?!”
he looked around, clearly embarrassed, cheeks burning as people continued staring. you pulled your hand back slightly but didn’t sit back down.
“i thought we were having a nice date?” your voice trembled. your head jerked and tilted sideways, shoulders shuddering. to others, it might just seem like a girlfriend getting psycho over the boyfriend, but to sunghoon who knew better—
it was anything but it.
“we are! we are…” he tried to reassure you, lightly nudging you to sit down again—but you wouldn’t budge.
“so why does it matter?” you repeated, voice getting smaller. just then, you started crying—softly, almost childishly, tears rolling down your cheeks as you stood there by the table with sunghoon’s hand holding yours.
the silence around you was deafening.
sunghoon was growing concerned and embarrassed—people were getting the wrong ideas, he could feel the judgemental eyes on him—the guy must have done something terrible to make his girlfriend cry in public.
swallowing the lump in his throat, he squeezed your hand gently. “doesn’t matter to me, baby. doesn’t matter,” he said quickly, voice low and soothing.
he finally managed to pull you toward him. you collapsed into his lap and chest almost instantly, sobbing quietly against his shirt. sunghoon wrapped his arms around you tightly, one hand rubbing slow circles on your back, the other cradling the back of your head.
you finally went quiet.
“shhh, it’s okay… i’ve got you,” he whispered into your hair, holding you close as your body trembled with hiccups. “it doesn’t matter. it doesn’t matter to me.”
the restaurant slowly, very agonisingly so, went back to their own conversations, but the uneasy atmosphere lingered.
sunghoon kept holding and rocking you gently, completely focused on calming you down.
——
the night ended with another fucking session. tonight lasted slightly longer than usual—one sunghoon could only assume was due to your frustration from the dinner date earlier. admittedly, it was sunghoon’s fault. he shouldn’t have brought it up, shouldn’t have listened to jake, shouldn’t have put you on the spot.
if you really wanted to talk about it, you would’ve.
sunghoon accidentally woke up sometime in the middle of the night. groggily, he checked the time on his phone.
03:47
and your side of the bed was cold.
he sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes as he looked around the dark room. at first, he thought you might have gone to the bathroom, or went down to get yourself a glass of water. but then his eyes caught something in the far corner—behind a stack of boxes.
a figure. barely visible. so faint it might’ve been nothing.
sunghoon sat up and leaned forward, squinting to get a clearer view. the figure stepped forward at his movement.
“yn…?”
you were standing there in nothing but his oversized shirt, the hem barely covering your ass. your nipples were visibly perky through the thin fabric, and your eyes reflected just enough light from the window to look almost glowing. eyeshine.
“go back to sleep,” you said softly.
sunghoon’s heart rate picked up.
“what are you doing…?”
you tilted your head slightly. a small, serene smile on your lips.
“watching you sleep. you’re cute when you sleep, hoonie.”
then, without a word, you stepped back into the shadow of the dark corner, becoming almost invisible again. sunghoon stared at the spot where you had been for god knows how long—unable to shake the chill that ran down his spine.
“...can you come back to bed?” sunghoon asked. voice careful.
“no.”
“yn?”
“no.”
the silence that followed was thick and suffocating. sunghoon sat there in the dark of his room, heart beating faster, tummy gurgling with uneasiness. he was getting weirded out—uncomfortable—getting scared by the girl of his dreams.
you were just standing there, not doing anything. not fiddling with the hem of his shirt that you were wearing, not moving an inch, not blinking or cracking a smile. hell—sunghoon couldn’t even see your lungs expanding.
it was… uncanny.
he thought of calling out again—but out of nowhere, you started giggling. a childish, high–pitched sound that didn’t belong in the middle of the night, and was definitely not yours. your shoulders shook and trembled with each giggle that slipped past your lips, but you weren’t moving.
“yn—”
you were acting fucking weird when you hopped back toward the bed like nothing had happened, crawling onto him and kissing his cheek with wet, eager presses of your lips.
“you know i love you the most, right?” you whispered sweetly against his skin, voice dripping with something unhinged. “i love you sooooo much…”
your hands roamed his bare chest possessively, cold fingers digging into his skin as you groped his bicep, squeezing like you were testing how much of him you could claim—ripped out with your bare hands.
you kissed down his neck, grazing your teeth along his pulse point—not quite biting, but close enough to send a shiver of fear through him.
“i could eat you up…” you murmured, teeth scraping harder this time, voice low and obsessive and not yours. “just…. consume every little part of you until there’s nothing left for anyone else—not even for yourself. wouldn’t that be nice? you’d be all mine. only mine. forever.”
your nails dragged down his chest as you nuzzled into his neck again, pressing your chest against him. sunghoon state frozen beneath you, heart hammering. the earlier warmth completely replaced by a deep, instinctive dread.
with your hand roaming along his body, they travelled down until you were caressing his thigh, close to his boxer. sunghoon let out a small grunt as you licked the part where his major jugular vein pulsed, then followed it with wet, butterfly kisses along the slope of his neck.
sunghoon had never noticed or felt how sharp your canines are.
“i wanna do it again,” you murmured, fluttering your pretty lashes with that same unhinged adoration.
even through the fear he’d never felt before in his life, sunghoon couldn’t deny you. not when you leaned in closer, lips brushing his ear as you whispered,
“fuck me, please?”
——
sunghoon stepped out of the bathroom, still half–asleep as he adjusted his shirt. at the same time, you walked out of the kitchen looking as normal, cute, girlfriend–ly, and happy as ever—bright smile, fresh face, still wearing the same oversized shirt as last night.
“oh! good morning, my baby!” you chirped, immediately walking over and kissing his cheek sweetly.
sunghoon smiled despite the lingering unease from last night. “hi, morning.” he hummed, kissing you back softly on the lips.
he hesitated for a moment, then spoke carefully.
“... can we, uh, talk about last night?”
your expression shifted. you looked down for a second, then back up at him with wide, innocent eyes.
“ugh, i’m sorry,” you said softly. “i had a really bad dream… and i think i was sleepwalking or something. i don’t even remember most of it…”
sunghoon hummed, rubbing the back of his neck. “it was kinda scary. you were saying and doing stuff. and the way you looked at me—”
“i know, i know,” you cut in gently, stepping closer and wrapping your arms around his waist. you hugged him tight, pressing your cheek against his chest. “i’m so sorry, baby. i won’t do it again—promise.”
he slowly hugged your back, arms clinging around you. his voice was relieved, but still worried.
“it’s okay. just promise me it won’t happen again.”
“i promise,” you said sweetly, giving him a squeeze. “i love you so much.”
“i love you too.”
it’s all so weird, but also not. just last night, sunghoon swore he could piss himself on the bed—but came the morning, and he couldn’t help himself.
he reached for his nametag on the counter and pinned it on. “i’ll see you later.”
“mmhm,” you hummed happily. then you suddenly perked up. “oh! i made you a little something.”
you hurried back to the kitchen counter and came back holding a neatly packed lunchbox, handing it to him with both hands like it was a precious gift.
“since i’m not working anymore, i couldn’t stand not doing anything for you and feeling like a useless sex doll—”
sunghoon frowned almost instantly, cutting you off. “what? what are you talking about?”
for a split second, your expression glitched in real time—eyes flickering, smile twitching unnaturally like a bad video feed. your pupils constricted and dilated before it went back normal. you recovered almost instantly, laughing it off like it was nothing.
“what? sorry, just forget it! here.”
you pushed the lunchbox into his hands with a wide smile.
sunghoon took it, a little confused. “um… alright.”
you leaned in and kissed him again—soft, lingering, and full of that obsessive affection. he kissed you back, placing his hands on your hips momentarily.
you pulled away with a bright smile, brushing off nothing from his shoulders like a doting girlfriend. then, you did that cute giddy thing—standing on your tiptoes, dropping back down, then rising onto your tiptoes again, hands clasped in front of you.
“enjoy your day, hoonie!” you said sweetly. “but not too much.” you smiled.
“i’ll be right here when you get home.”
sunghoon gave you a small smile, and turned toward the door.
only to find it taped shut, literally. layers of grey duct tape crisscrossing over them frame and knob and wall, sealing it completely.
he stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widened in shock and disbelief. “uh… um…”
he didn’t say anything else. he just walked over and tried to pull the knob—the tape held firm.
behind, you stood perfectly still, watching with that same serene smile. you were still standing on your tiptoes, then dropping back down, then onto your tiptoes again.
“you okay, baby?” you asked, voice soft and innocent. “you seemed to struggle a little… maybe you should just stay at home?”
sunghoon forced a chuckle, still tugging at the door. “no, no, i uh… i got this, baby. just…”
with a sharp rip, he finally tore enough of the tape off to open the door. he turned back to you, trying to act normal.
“i’ll see you soon.”
you waved at him with an unnervingly sweet, cute smile. still standing in the same spot—still doing your tiptoes movement.
——
sunghoon and haewon were in the aisles arranging the new cd arrivals.
“been a while since we hung out,” she said casually, sliding a few albums into place.
“yeah,” sunghoon replied, not looking up from where he was crouching down. “got busy. and yn’s not exactly the hang–out type anymore.”
haewon paused, looking down at him with a raised eyebrow.
“what, really? she used to come over a lot and watch movies with jake and i.” she shrugged. “huh. guess relationships change people.”
sunghoon chuckled, then he smiled, finally looking up to her. “what’s up with that?”
the girl laughed lightly, shaking her head as she continued with her task. “nothing? i always thought yn was like this really cool, whimsical girl, you know what i mean? but now i barely even see you, let alone her. just… bummed.”
sunghoon’s hands slowed on the cds. “uh. i guess so.”
the silence between them grew a little awkward. sensing it, haewon quickly changed the subject with a brighter tone. “oh, yeah, also—jake wants to hold this big, cool movie night at our place tonight. you’re joining?”
sunghoon pursed his lips, then thought for a little while. true—it’s been a while since the three—or four, if including you—hung out together since sunghoon and you became a thing. it had also been a while since he properly talked to haewon and jake outside of work.
everything lately had revolved around you.
“...yeah, sure, actually,” he finally said. “who else is joining?”
haewon smiled, relieved that the awkwardness had passed. “mm, i think jake invited some band people too. aerona’s there too, if you remember.”
sunghoon nodded. “sure. yeah, that works.”
they were cut off by kim calling out from the front counter. “haewon! can you work on this aisle? and sunghoon, you can take your break now!”
haewon grunted softly, rolling her eyes. “i’ll see you tonight.”
“sure,” sunghoon replied with a small smile.
with another grunt from him, he stood back up, rubbing his hands together and setting the box aside.
as he was walking toward the counter to head to the breakroom, sieun—your bestfriend—suddenly appeared in front of him. she was wearing a low cut sleeveless top and jeans shorts, boots that rose up till her knees.
“sunghoon, hi!”
he was slightly taken aback. “oh, sieun, hey. what are you doing here?”
he kept walking, slipping behind the counter and into the small breakroom to grab his lunchbag. the breakroom door was right behind the front counter, so sieun waited in front with her arms folded in front of her, pressed against her chest—making her cleavage appear more… prominent.
when he came back out with the lunchbox you’d made him, sieun grinned.
“oh, you know… i kinda wanna rent something,” she said, voice playful. “secretary, maybe?”
sunghoon didn’t know sieun like that aside from sharing a band practice room together occasionally. so seeing her this way, kinda changed the way he viewed her.
he hummed, letting out a small scoff. “we don’t sell porn here.”
sieun giggled, tilting her head. “oh! so you know?” she leaned forward a little more. “it’s not porn, though? it’s just… suggestive.”
the atmosphere between them felt changed—flirty on her end.
“well, you gotta pirate it, ‘cause we don’t have it here.”
he then set the lunchbag you made him on the counter between them, creating a space. sieun’s eyes flicked to it.
“awe, mommy made you lunch, sunghoon?”
“nope,” he replied, a small smile tugging at his lips. “yn did, actually.”
sieun let out a soft laugh, raising her eyebrows. “oh, how sweet. she’s the best at cooking,” she hummed, raising an eyebrow. “very… housewife material of her.”
sunghoon chuckled lightly and opened the lid.
the smell hit them both at the same time.
inside was the most unappetising, inedible, atrocious looking lunch either of them had ever seen—it was just a sandwich. except, the sandwich was both burnt and wet at the same time—the bread charred back on the edges while the middle looked soggy and slimy. a small bug was even crawling slowly across the top.
both of them recoiled instantly.
siuen made a disgusted noise and turned her head away. sunghoon quickly slammed the lid shut, eyes wide with horror.
the lunchbox landed in the trash.
——
the drive started quiet. after shift, jake asked for a ride home in which sunghoon agreed—having lived in the same row of neighborhoods, after all.
then, jake cleared his throat.
“i wanna talk about you and yn.”
sunghoon kept his eyes on the road. “what’s there to talk about?
“come on.”
the driver sighed, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “you know i like her. for a long time too.”
“i know,” jake said carefully, knowing how fragile the topic was. “but i just think you guys should be apart for a bit—”
“i’ve never been so fucking happy,” sunghoon cuts in, voice sharp, laced with defensiveness. “not after my dad passed.”
jake tried again. “it’s just for a little—”
“and you’re trying to give me reasons not to be.”
a heavy beat of silence settled in the car.
“look, i just don't want you, or yn for that matter, to get hurt,” jake said, tone more serious now. “she’s my friend, and you’re my bestfriend, and i’m totally thrown and weirded out by this. can we please break this down?”
sunghoon’s grip on the wheel tightened. “i don’t want to break it down for you.”
jake pushed. “she lied about her grandma. she didn’t have a reason to—”
“i’m still not breaking down our relationship—”
“we don’t even hang out anymore—”
“right, like i had to hear about your cool–ass party from haewon—”
“and you don’t think this is fucking weird at all?”
“were you going to invite us?”
their voices overlapped, the argument building fast and messy in the confined space of the car.
jake frowned. “don’t change the subject. and i wasn’t sure if i wanted to, if i’m being completely honest.”
sunghoon’s jaw clenched. “why not?”
the car slowed to a stop in front of jake’s house.
he turned to sunghoon, expression serious. “because it looks like yn is going through something worse than molly, and it seems to me that you’re taking advantage of it—”
“oh, for fuck’s sakes!” sunghoon snapped, turning to jake. his arms rested on the shoulder of the car seat. “she’s all over me! are you fucking kidding?”
“exactly!” jake shot back. “you were all over her, now she’s all over you and it doesn’t look good. it doesn’t look good at all, man.”
sunghoon let out a bitter laugh, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “why are you trying to ruin this for me? she’s the one who won’t leave me alone.”
jake exhaled, rubbing his face. “alright. then be a man, and make that clear. you can come, but out of love, yn can’t. or yn can come, and you stay at home.”
just before jake stepped out of the car, he paused, one hand on the door.
“i don’t want my friend’s relationship to be built on some weird codependency or what-the-fuck-ever.”
he shut the door behind him.
——
tired from the long day and the argument with jake, sunghoon pushed the door open and flicked on the lights. he just wanted to shower and rest—and cuddle with you until sleep took over.
but the moment he stopped inside, the smell hit him first—sour, acrid, vomit, and urine.
you were still standing in the middle of the living room, the same spot he left you in, soaked in sweat and vomit, standing in a pool of your own piss. the same shirt from earlier was ruined, clinging wetly to your body. urine stained your legs and the floor beneath you.
you hadn’t moved from that spot.
“hoonie!” you said brightly.
sunghoon froze, eyes wide with horror.
“oh, shit—yn?! what the fuck? are you okay?”
you seemed to realise the state you were in. at his reaction, you stepped back embarrassed, looking down at yourself with a small, confused frown.
“i—i’m sorry… oh gosh, i should’ve showered…”
sunghoon moved toward you quickly, concerned and utterly confused. he grabbed a tissue from the tv stand and started wiping your face, trying not to gag at the smell.
“what happened?” he asked, voice laced with worry.
you looked up at him, eyes glassy. “my body feels weird and i couldn’t stop puking… ugh, i don’t know…”
sunghoon’s eyes widened. he scrunched his nose at the overwhelming stench. “did you have a seizure or something?"
you shook your head slowly.
“i was waiting for you to come home.”
you looked down at yourself again and shivered with visible revulsion.
“oh gosh… i’m so disgusting… you’re probably so disgusted with me. i’m so sorry—let me shower, and i’ll clean this all up.”
you walked toward the bathroom. sunghoon followed close behind, but you slammed the door in his face before he could do anything. the shower water turned on a second later.
“yn, i don’t understand how—” he started, voice raised above the noise of the water.
“i’ll clean it, baby,” you called back, voice sweet despite everything.
sunghoon stood right outside the door, shoulders slumped, forehead resting against the door.
“yn?”
“yeah?”
“...you love me, right?”
“yeah, a lot!”
he closed his eyes.
“...okay. so never do that again, hm?”
“do what? wait for you to come home?”
sunghoon rested his head fully against the door, voice tired.
“not that, baby. you can wait for me—but you know, you can also do things around the house.”
“okay, baby.”
a beat of silence.
“so uhm… what did you do today?”
“nothing, baby.”
another long pause. defeated and unsure, sunghoon finally spoke up again, “i’m going to jake’s house tonight.”
the shower water stopped. and everything went eerily quiet.
you sounded hurt when you replied. “okay.”
“so i, uh… i’m gonna go there, okay?”
“yup. i can get dressed after this.”
“that’s nice, baby, but uh… i think it’s just a band thing.”
“oh, i know ‘cause sieun was telling me she’s going.”
sunghoon frowned, taken aback. “sieun too? what, really?”
the bathroom door suddenly slammed open.
you stood there, drenched, wrapping only in a towel. hair dripping water onto the floor. your eyes were wide and intense.
“yeah. why? are you happy? excited? is that why you’re telling me not to go?” with every sentence, you walked towards him. your eyes were wide, and your skin was warm and flushed from the hot water. you tilted your head once harshly, it threatened to break.
sunghoon stepped back until his back met the wall, hands raised. “no, no, no, baby, no that’s not it—”
then, like a switch, you stood still, like normal, with an innocent look on your face. “but um, okay. if you want me to stay at home, i can stay at home, hoonie.”
now he was feeling overwhelmingly guilty. he didn’t know sieun, your bestfriend, was coming too—so now it just seemed like an overall big misunderstanding.
“no, it’s okay. i’m sorry—you should come.”
“mm, it’s fine. you can go without me.”
he started persuading you to go, but you kept insisting in that soft tone of yours—”i don’t want to bother you, i’ll just wait here like always,” “i don’t want to make you uncomfortable…”
sunghoon didn’t know what to do.
——
jake deadpanned sunghoon the moment he walked in with you clinging to his arm. sunghoon avoided his gaze. around the low table were two other guys from the band circle and sieun, who gave sunghoon a flirty little wave.
you and sunghoon sat together on the couch, your body pressed close to his. jake and haewon were sitting on single chairs across the table, and others just scattered around.
the group was playing “dare or drink”—a stack of cards with ridiculous and explicit dares.
one of the guys, jaemin, pulled a card and grinned.
“switch spots with whoever you want.”
“hell yeah,” he said immediately, eyes landing on you. “i wanna sit next to yn.”
your eyes widened slightly and you instantly looked over to sunghoon, pouting and pleading, “nooo…” and caught sunghoon’s hand as he got up, squeezing it lightly. “baby, i’ve showered…”
he gave your hand a gentle squeeze back. “it’s fine, babe.”
he stood up and moved to the only empty spot—right next to haewon.
jaemin happily took his place beside you. you looked visibly sad, like a kicked puppy with your eyebrows frowned inwards, scooting slightly from the other guy.
he laughed. “damn, sunghoon, what kinda spell you got on her?”
the group chuckled. sunghoon forced a smile but didn’t say anything.
it was now your turn. you pulled a card but didn’t read it out loud. instead, you stared at it for a long second before standing up and suddenly speaking in a soft, rambling voice—like you were telling a story no one asked for.
“my wish is to die like an angel, sinless… i don’t know what it is, and i don’t think i’m the only one. falling from the sky with wings made of glass, shattering beautifully so everyone can see who i really am inside. but i can’t. i can’t die like an angel, and i think i can’t die at all. i can’t die like an angel like i wanted to. i’m not an angel—i’m not—i don’t know. i just want to be something.”
the room went deathly quiet. whatever it was… hung heavy in the air—deeply unsettling in everyone’s ribs. jake blinked, swallowing the lump in his throat. haewon, too, blinking confusedly, her lips parting like she wanted to say something—but not sure what.
sieun made a face—a clear what the fuck….? expression—while the other two guys exchanged awkward glances, one of them muttering a quiet, “what…?”
sunghoon just stared at you, completely confused, mouth slightly open like haewon—wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.
sieun finally broke the silence, raising an eyebrow. “uh… you good, babe?”
you blinked, sat down again, then smiled like nothing strange had happened at all.
“yeah. i’m perfect.”
haewon cleared her throat awkwardly. “um… okay, sunghoon—it’s your turn.”
sunghoon blinked, snapping out of it. “oh shit, okay.”
he reached forward and pulled a card. his face paled the moment he read it. he glanced at you—you were leaning forward with sweet anticipation, smiling brightly. then he looked at jake silently pleading.
“...kiss the person to your left.”
it was haewon.
“ooohs,” and “wows,” rippled through the group. sunghoon made eye contact with you again. your expression had gone completely dead—emotionless, empty. then, the corners of your mouth stretched downwards tightly while your eyes remained unblinking and wide.
then you stood up slowly. everyone’s eyes followed you.
you stood behind haewon’s folded chair for what felt like forever.
swiftly, you moved behind haewon’s chair and grabbed the back of it—dragged it backward with a loud, grating creak that echoed through the room. haewon’s eyes widened and she gripped the armrests for support and balance.
then you crouched right next to sunghoon’s chair, puckered your lips, and waited.
the whole room was shocked into silence.
sunghoon stared at you for a second. he hadn’t even planned to do the dare—he was going to drink instead. but the way you were looking at him now…
he leaned in and kissed you.
then, you looked at sunghoon with glassy eyes.
“no one on this earth will ever comprehend what it feels like to love someone as much as i love you,” you whispered against his lips.
you stood up abruptly and giggled, clapping your hands once like a child who’d just finished a performance.
“that was fun!”
jake looked almost hurt for a second, but then forced a smile. “um, okay… dare still count. who wants shots?”
a beat.
jaemin raised his hand. “i’ll take one.”
“god bless, thank you jaemin,” jake said, trying to keep the mood light.
“who else?”
you locked eyes with sunghoon. he looked rather uncomfortable. guilt suddenly washed over your face. your heart beat once, then twice, then thrice before something in you snapped.
you jolted violently, swiping the entire stack of cards off the table with one arm. before anyone could react, you grabbed the vodka bottle and smashed it hard against the edge of the table.
CRASH.
glass exploded everywhere. everyone jerked back in fear, chairs scraping loudly as people scrambled away. haewon nearly stumbled over her chair.
“it’s not me!” you screamed, voice cracking. “i’m not the devil!”
you kept smashing the broken bottle against the table, shards flying. sieun gasped aloud, but wasn’t able to do anything to stop you. sunghoon too, just watched in horror.
“help her! shit—sunghoon!”
“get her to the fucking hospital!”
then, in a frenzied motion, you lifted the sharp, broken vodka bottle and stabbed the jagged end into the side of your face.
the blunt glass failed to puncture deeply, but it still caused crazy damage—tearing open your cheek in a ragged, bloody gash. blood poured down your face instantly, dripping onto your pretty little dress (too pretty for a simple movie night) and onto the floor.
sobbing, you kept pressing it in, twisting it slightly. more blood spraying as the glass cut deeper into your skin.
“please—it’s not me!”
the room erupted into chaos—people standing up, chairs knocking over.
“yn, shit!”
sunghoon just stared at you from where he was sitting, almost… emotionless. almost. he blinked like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. his mind was racing—every moment, every strange behaviour, every time he’d ignored it all. he didn’t move.
he couldn’t.
you kept pressing the jagged glass into the side of your face for a few more terrifying seconds before you suddenly stopped. the broken bottle slipped from your bloody fingers and clattered to the floor.
your expression changed instantly. you blinked, looking around the room like you just woke up from a nightmare.
“oh… oh my gosh, i’m so sorry…”
you looked horrifying. blood poured freely down the left side of your face from the ragged rash on your cheek, staining your pretty dress. your hands were cut and bleeding from gripping the broken glass—and your eyes were wide and teary.
you chuckled awkwardly, nipping at the bottom of your lip as you darted your tongue to lick the blood around your lips.
everyone in the room was horrified. haewon had her hand over her mouth. sieun was colourless. the other guys were frozen. jake looked like he was about to be sick.
you tried to smile, voice shaky as you stood up, wiping your bloody hands on your skirt.
“okay, okay… i’m so sorry, guys. oh gosh, silly me,” you let out a weak laugh, tucking your hair behind your ear. “it was just a joke, um—i’m leaving. sorry, sorry…”
you started crying softly, tears mixing with the blood on your face.
then, you turned to sunghoon, voice small as you extended your arm out.
“come on, baby.”
everyone’s eyes snapped to him.
——
the hospital didn’t take you in.
the nurse had asked sunghoon to make a report and leave you there for treatment, but he refused. he didn’t want to leave you alone. not now, not like this, not ever.
so he drove home instead, your head nuzzling into his shoulder the entire ride, one of your hands tightly gripping his free arm like you were afraid he’d disappear.
back at his house, sunghoon sat at the dining table. the cut on your cheek had stopped bleeding but the parted flesh looked raw and ugly. it gave him chills how you were so unbothered by it.
he was about to stand up when you grabbed his hand.
“where are you going…?”
“just getting water, yn…”
you looked down on your lap, still holding his wrist. sunghoon stared at you for a long, heavy moment—contemplating, licking his dry lips wet.
“why did you do that?”
you finally looked up to him, eyes showing visible sadness, your eyebrows dropped. “...you and haewon were going to kiss…”
sunghoon sighed. he’d half–expected that’d be your answer. sighing, he ran his other hand along his face. “i wasn’t even going to do it,” he said, frustration creeping in. “i was going to drink—you… you scared everyone.”
swallowing the lump in your throat, your gave his wrist a gentle squeeze. “i don’t know why i did it…” you whispered.
sunghoon shook his head, sitting back down. “look at your face,” he said, voice softer but still strained.
“i’m sorry—i got scared…”
he reached out and gently wiped the dried blood from your cheek with his thumb. you leaned into his touch like a starved animal.
then, you added quietly, “sieun likes you too.”
sunghoon’s patience finally snapped. he frowned, and pulled his hand back, growing frustrated. why the fuck would it ever matter if sieun liked him?
“that’s… god, that’s—”
you looked up at him, confused, pulling your hand back. “what…?”
it all blew up.
“god, everything was fucking normal!” he burst out, voice cracking as he stood up. sunghoon turned around to face the wall, clear frustration, anger, disappointment, confusion—all displayed on his face.
“and now you’re so—you’re so—!”
sunghoon turned and stopped himself, seeing the way you flinched, eyes wide and shocked and teary.
“i’m sorry… i’m sorry,” he said quickly, voice breaking as he reached for you again. his hands were shaking as he held your cheeks, thumbs gently brushing away the tears.
“you’re normal,” he whispered, voice cracking. “you’re so normal, and you’re so beautiful and i love you so much but—oh god, yn, please don’t ever do that again.”
sunghoon’s eyes were glassy, filled with fear and guilt and love all at once.
“it’s not okay,” he murmured, shaking his head. “this isn’t okay.”
you looked up at him. he searched for your face desperately, still cupping your cheeks.
“do you… do you like me?”
“of course, hoonie. i love you—”
“no, no, no, no, no,” he cut you off, shaking your head frantically. his grip on you tightened a fraction. “do you like me? do you even like me?”
you tried to answer again. “i lov—”
sunghoon frowned—he almost pressed his thumbs into your flesh. “did yn like me?” he pressed, looking right into your eyes for answers. “is yn happy? did she like me?”
slowly, you cracked a smile, all teeth and almost like a grin.
“yeah.”
sunghoon let out a shaky breath, eyes filled with pain and confusion. “yeah… no, no, no, no…” he whispered, suddenly pulling away, standing up and walking away.
you stood up too, voice small and scared. “where are you going?”
“bathroom, yn,” he said almost quickly, not turning around. “can i even do that?”
you frowned, now looking frustrated. the obsessive mask cracking as it bled through like the blood from your cut fleshes. “well, can you tell me you love me?” you said, tone laced with something of annoyance and eagerness.
sunghoon stopped and turned around. his eyes were red, exhausted, and full of everything he’d been holding in.
“yn… this is all i’ve ever wanted.”
you tilted your head before stepping closer. “of course. i know that. this is all i’ve ever wanted too.”
sunghoon shook his head slowly, stepping back. “no… it’s not…”
you stepped forward, eyes wide and pleading. “yes it is. this is all i’ve ever wanted.”
“i want this to work so bad,” he murmured, pain clear in his voice as he rubbed his face.
“it can,” you said quickly, almost desperately as you stood before him. “of course it can.”
“no, it can’t.”
“yes it can.”
he ran a hand through his slightly sweaty hair, exhausted but not quite slowing down. sunghoon was borderline tearing up too out of frustration that you were just not getting it. “okay—so i’m gonna send you home and we’re gonna take some space—”
you immediately broke. your shoulders slumped like your soul just left you, like all the energy within had drained out. “noooo…” you started crying, then sobbing, then full–on wailing in a matter of seconds.
“i don’t want space! i don’t wanna be apart from you! tell me what i should do!”
sunghoon frowned, voice cracked with frustration as he stepped away. “just be normal! be normal, yn!”
you screamed through your tears, “i can be normal!”
“god, i just want you to be yn!”
“i can be yn!” you screamed back, voice breaking and sobbing as your shoulder trembled. you followed wherever he went. “i can be anything you want!”
“don’t say that.” sunghoon said quietly, obviously drained. he held your shoulders, pressing his thumbs into your flesh to keep you steady. “yn will never say that.”
“it’s true!” you insisted, tears screaming. you held onto the hem of his shirt like an upset child. “i’ll be anything!”
sunghoon looked completely exhausted, no emotion left on his face. he was quiet now, staring at the floor.
your lips parted when he didn’t look at you in the eyes.
“oh… i’m so sorry. i’m so sorry, baby.”
you dropped to your knees in front of him with a thud, wrapping your arms tightly around his leg, clinging desperately as you buried your face against his thigh. your tears wet the fabric.
“i can be yn… i can be yn… i’ll be whatever you want.” you murmured, kissing his thigh through his jeans.
“i’ll be sweet, and soft, and kind, caring… like yn… i’ll take care of you and we can cook and read together. i can be yn…” you continued, pressing your cheek into his flesh.
sunghoon slowly crouched to your level, cupping your cheeks so you were looking at him.
“i love you too…” he whispered, voice breaking.
sunghoon really did.
then something in you snapped.
your face went completely emotionless. your eyes were empty, and you weren’t smiling—and it was as if your tears just stopped trailing down your flushed cheeks. you stood up in one unnaturally smooth, but quick motion—moving backward toward the table with stiff, mechanical steps.
it didn’t look human.
sunghoon’s eyes widened in terror as he stumbled backwards against the desk, knocking things over.
“stop! stop—fuck, yn, stop!”
you stood still in the darkness of the room, body rigid. for a terrifying second, he couldn’t predict what was coming next—only hearing his own heavy, ragged breathing and loud thumping of his own heart beat in his chest.
sunghoon didn’t know what was coming—cause you lunged forward, running straight at him—
but you stopped yourself.
“i’m sorry,” you murmured.
a beat passed.
sunghoon was terrified, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.
“okay… god, okay. yn, i… i’m gonna step out. why don’t you… why don’t you take the bed, and i’ll just… i’ll just sleep somewhere else and i’ll come back in the morning before you’re even up.”
you stared at him for a long moment—sunghoon couldn’t see, but he could tell you were because of how heavy everything felt.
“okay.”
then you turned around and walked into the kitchen. a loud crashing sound echoed through the house—glass shattering, cabinets slamming, steel pans and pots clattering through the tiles.
sunghoon flinched, frozen in fear.
“yn?! what the fuck is happening? what are you doing?!”
the loud chaos went on for the next few seconds before it completely stopped. eerie silence. you came back out of the kitchen, still shrouded in shadow. your voice was calm, almost sweet, but the words were nothing but.
and you were holding a knife.
“well… if i have the bed all to myself tonight…” you tilted your head, voice distant and almost flat, like you were not in the same space as he was. “...you’re not going to touch me. so i’ll do it myself. over and over and over. i’ll keep going until there’s nothing left inside. until every piece of me is used and hollowed out. my hands will move long after they go numb—and my body will keep moving even when it stops feeling like mine. it won’t stop until it hurts, and i won’t stop until i’m empty. i’ll just keep pushing until the last little bit of me breaks,”
“...and then there’ll be nothing.”
the sharp blade of the knife in your hand glinted.
then you switched again.
“or you can stay!”
sunghoon’s eyes remained wide in terror as he gripped the carpet beneath him. trembling and shaking in fear, he let out a soft—
“...yeah.”
——
“do you love me?”
that was the 27th time you asked that night.
you were on top of him, riding him slow and deep, hips rolling in a rhythm. your arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, pulling him as close as physically possible. you wanted to intertwine the cages of your ribs with his’—if that was possible.
you couldn’t stop kissing him. kisses that tasted like salt from your tears and blood from your cut cheeks that didn’t want to leave your skin.
“do you love me?” you whispered against his lips for the 28th time that night.
sunghoon groaned softly, hands gripping your waist as you sank down onto him again, taking him to the hilt. despite everything—the fear, the confusion, the guilt, the violence—it felt so fucking good. too fucking good.
you’re perfect around him, warm and tight and desperately his.
“yeah…” sunghoon breathed, voice hoarse. “i love you.”
you smiled against his mouth, kissing him deeper, tongue sliding against his as you rode him harder. your hips moved with needy, possessive rolls, like you were trying to fuse your bodies together.
“i love you so much, hoonie,” you murmured between kisses, whispering the confession straight into his insides. “i love you so much like no one else can…”
sunghoon’s eyes stung, wet. a tear slipped down his cheek as the overwhelming mix of pleasure hit him. he loved you. he loved you so much. even like this, he still loved you.
you noticed the tears and slowed your movements, cupping his face with both smaller hands.
“why are you crying, baby?” you whispered sweetly, kissing the tear away. “i love you so much. i love you so much…”
you rode him again, slower this time, grinding down deep as you kissed him like the world was ending tomorrow. your bodies moved together in the dark of his room.
sunghoon held you tighter, burying his face in your neck as tears fell down your shoulder, along your collarbone, tits, and down.
he didn’t know what this was anymore.
and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.
——
some hours later, after the sex and the clinging, sunghoon was awoken by the soft buzz of his phone.
slowly, quietly reaching for it and careful not to wake you up. the screen lit up.
sieun: can you meet me at the park?
sieun: i need to tell you something about yn.
at first, he quickly typed back with one hand.
sunghoon: i can’t.
sieun: please. it’s important.
sunghoon: text.
the bubble appeared, then disappeared.
siuen: if youre not cmg, then im cmg over
sieun: its about yn
he stared at the scene for a long second.
sunghoon: fuck. fine
he glanced at you—sleeping on his arm, naked beneath the blanket, looking as soft and calm as ever. slowly, very slowly, he moved your arm off his chest and slipped out of the bed. he put on his pants and shirt as quietly as possible.
sunghoon was just about to leave the bedroom when—
“sunghoon.”
he froze.
“i’m just getting water…” he whispered back, heart pounding. he didn’t want to deal with another breakdown.
there was a long pause. then your voice came again—different, smaller, quieter.
“sunghoon… kill me. please.”
he stopped dead in his tracks, ashamed and in disbelief as he stared at your unconscious, sleeping body.
“what?”
“shh… she’s sleeping. it’s me.”
despite the tremble in your voice, you were sleeping soundly.
“you are you, yn.”
“shh… please don’t wake her up.” your voice cracked, desperate. “just kill me.”
a beat of heavy silence.
sunghoon’s throat tightened as he glanced at the floor, before returning to your sleeping form. your hair covered your face, but even so, he knew your eyes were closed, and your mouth was shut.
“what would be so bad… about being with me?”
he could hear the tears in your voice.
“i’ve never been with you, sunghoon.”
a single tear slipped down your cheek.
“just kill me. please.”
sunghoon stood there, frozen. his heart shattered like it had never been before. without sparing you another glance, he turned and left the room.
behind him, your voice followed, weak and broken, repeating and chanting like a prayer—
“please… please… please… please… please…”
——
sunghoon got into her car, closing the door behind him.
“alright. so what about yn?”
sieun raised an eyebrow, unbuckling her seatbelt. “jeez, calm down… what’s up with her first? is she fine?”
sunghoon darted his eyes away, sighing. “nothing. she’s uh… she’s fine. she just wasn’t feeling well at the party.”
the girl gave him a look. a long one. full of suspicion and doubt. “she was about to kill herself.”
“i know,” sunghoon said quickly, trying not to recall the moment you stabbed yourself in the face with a vodka bottle. “but she’s fine now. she’s just going through something.”
the car fell quiet for a moment. sieun tapped her fingers on the steering wheel before she shifted in her seat.
“um, okay… well, first of all, i’m saying this as yn’s friend. and also your acquaintance, somehow.” she paused, raising an eyebrow, then continued. “i’d hate to see your hurt, and—oh, yn too, i guess. and i wouldn’t have done this if you guys weren’t together.”
sunghoon frowned. “yeah…?”
sieun took a deep breath, dropping her hands from the steering wheel and onto her lap where she played with the hem of her short skirt. “i promise yn i wouldn’t tell you this.”
“what are you on about?”
“well… yn and jake have been hooking up on and off like, three years ago—and they’ve stopped, but i’m not sure when. probably a year ago, or something. it’s chill. i don’t think it’s romantic. and i know jake’s your bestfriend and all, and i’m sure he stopped going after her because he knows you like her. i’m just saying this just so you know.”
sunghoon stared at her, stunned. his heart was beating as fast as it could. he never knew this. he never fucking knew you had a history—a fling—with his own bestfriend before.
the thought of jake fucking you the way sunghoon did was making his blood boil. the thought of you moaning jake’s name the way you did in his dream was making his skin crawl. the thought of the two of you sharing a kiss—the same lips sunghoon kissed every night—was making him… repulsed.
“what the fuck…?”
“yeah,” sieun said softly. “i just… i don’t know if she’s told you that, so i felt like i had to.” she said, still playing with the fabric. “you couldn’t imagine what it’s like being me, and having to be in a room with jake, you, and yn all together.”
the mood in the car shifted. sieun leaned a little closer, her voice dropping into something more… slicky.
“i just think you deserve someone more… outgoing. or something. like, chill…”
sunghoon looked at her and swallowed the lump in his throat. distracted, his hands landed on the way her fingers were moving around the skirt.
he parted his mouth to say something when—
CRASH.
the driver–side window shattered violently.
glass exploded inward as you ran head–first into it like a battering ram. before sieun could even scream, you wedged a brick against the steering wheel, grabbed a fistful of her hair—so tight it threatened to rip off her scalp—, and slammed her face down hard against the brick.
HONK!
the horn blared with every slam..
you didn’t stop.
you yanked sieun’s head back by the hair and smashed her face into the brick again.
HONK!
blood sprayed across the dashboard and onto sunghoon’s face. sieun’s nose crunched on impact, splitting open. her cheek tore wide open, teeth falling down on her lap.
HONK!
more blood poured from her broken nose and split lip. her cheekbone cracked with a wet sound. one of her teeth flew out, clattering against the windshield.
HONK!
you were relentless, animalistic. your face was covered by your hair, unfiltered rage as you kept yanking her head back by the hair and driving it down over and over and over again.
HONK! HONK! HONK!
it was a bloodbath inside. on the seats, the roof, the windows, sunghoon. her face was unrecognisable, swollen, and mangled, one eye swelling shut, the other was exposing her eyeball. she was gurgling, choking on her own blood,
dead.
nothing to the name anymore.
playgirl’s just lost the lead singer.
sunghoon sat frozen in the passenger seat, paralysed by shock and terror. his body wouldn’t move, not a centimeter. his mouth hung open in silence as he watched you—the girl he loved—violently smashing her bestfriend’s face with raw force.
he could only stare.
HONK!
with one last slam, you let go of sieun’s chunk of hair that you’d pulled out. her body slumped lifelessly against the seat, head tilting back. warm blood poured from her face, dripping down.
sunghoon stared. smoke from the broken horn lingered in the air like a ghost. he was paralysed—eyes widened, body frozen in horror.
you finally sighed, lifting your head up to face him with a bright, almost cheerful smile, blood smeared across your cheek and hands.
“oh—oh gosh! i’m sorry you had to see that, baby!”
you moved your hair out of your face, still smiling.
“my heart took a path i never chose… but just know you wanted this. this is all your fault. this is what you’ve wished for.”
sunghoon’s face was pale, mouth slightly open but nothing came out. upon his terrified reaction, your heart broke and the smile was instantly wiped off your face, replaced with a concerned look.
“oh, no no no no no—” you rushed to his side, opening the passenger door. you cupped his face with your bloody hands, wiping the sweat and specks of blood from his skin. “breathe, baby, breathe,” you said, taking deep breaths.
“it’s okay. i’ve got you. that’s all that matters… you’re fine, baby. i’m soooo sorry for the drama, but this is your fault. sieun’s your fault.”
you pulled him into a tight hug, pressing your blood stained cheeks against his chest.
“and you’re gonna have to help me get rid of her body, okay?”
sunghoon shook his head frantically. “no… no no no—”
“yes, baby. you’re gonna help me.”
“no, no, no—” he groaned, voice breaking.
you pulled back, still holding his face gently, eyes soft but insistent.
“baby, i forgive you and i won’t hold it against you. but we have to get rid of her, okay? now shake your head yes.”
he shook his head again, tears welling up.
you smiled patiently. “yes. yes. yes, baby.”
he kept shaking his head.
“nod your head yes.”
realizing he had no choice, sunghoon finally nodded, tears slipping down his cheeks.
——
sunghoon helped you move sieun’s body into the trunk of your car. you kissed him softly on the lips before saying you’d take it from here.
he drove back to his house but couldn’t bring himself to go inside. the fear was too heavy even though he knew you weren’t inside. the thought of being in his house by himself, waiting for you to come back was too much.
so instead, he drove until he reached crystal cove.
it was barely 8 in the morning when he barged in, the bell above the door ringing violently. he went straight to the shelf where he’d found the one wish willow—
it wasn’t there.
“what the fuck…”
out of breath, sunghoon rummaged through the other display boxes, panicking—if it was all just his imagination. when he couldn’t find it, he stormed to the cashier, voice shaking.
“where is it? where’s the one wish willow?”
“what?”
sunghoon’s eyes twitched. “the one wish willow! it’s—it’s a white box with a twig that you can only wish for one thing!”
the cashier, with a cup of coffee in hand, raised an eyebrow, clicking his tongue.
“hey, look—you gotta chill… it like 7AM. what’s with the vibes you’re giving off?”
sunghoon was frantic, he looked around the shop for it. “come on, one wish willow! please, please—”
he stared at the bloodied guy like he was crazy. “...what? are you okay?”
sunghoon’s heart dropped. “what…?”
was it because of the blood on his shirt that nobody was taking him seriously? or was it because there was no such thing as one wish willow in the first place?
he was in disbelief.
“no, no, no—don’t fuck with me. you guys had those!”
the cashier looked at him weirdly for a second—before chuckling like it’s the funniest fucking thing ever.
“chill out, jeez… i’m just messing with you. we moved them here.” he pointed right at the counter, where a small display now sat.
sunghoon frowned, wanting to flip the cashier off but decided there was more important matter now. he grabbed the remaining one wish willow box from the display.
“how can you fucking sell this to people?!”
the cashier shrugged, sighing. “look. we just sell what the boss wants us to sell. now if you can’t chill out and wipe that theatre blood off your face, i’m not gonna scan those for you.”
sunghoon snapped out of his rage for a second, realising how crazy and unhinged he sounded. he let out a deep breath and rubbed his face with one hand, on the verge of another round of tears and break down.
“sorry… fuck, i’m so sorry. oh god…”
the cashier’s expression softened a little when sunghoon calmed down, then he glanced at the boxes, and realisation kicked in.
“... what did you do?”
sunghoon couldn’t speak. the words wouldn’t come.
the cashier sighed. “oh well. that’s just how it is.”
sunghoon’s voice cracked as he put the boxes on the counter. “help me reverse it.”
he shook his head. “nope. already used mine.”
“please, please, please—”
sunghoon was begging at this point.
“nooo, you know that’s not how it works. it’s one wish for a reason! the box is full of warnings—did you read the instruction paper?”
“instru—dude, please, please—”
“nope. you know what you were wishing for.”
“i didn’t—”
“no.” the cashier said firmly, now looking at sunghoon straight into his eyes. “you do. there’s no way to undo, or break the wish unless you kill youself—”
sunghoon’s eyes widened, he froze.
“—unless you kill youself, or have someone else reverse it.”
“k—kill… myself?”
the cashier nodded, drumming his fingers against the countertop. “yeah. that’s usually the easy way people do it. i’ve dealt with unsatisfied customers like you all the time for the same reason. it’s too much of a hassle to explain it to others, so they just kill themselves.”
sunghoon remained frozen, swallowing the lump in his throat. his hands shook around the box. the weight of his mistake finally came crushing down on him when he realised just how heavy the consequences were.
noticing sunghoon’s reaction, the cashier sighed, rubbing his head.
“just have someone undo it for you. that’s probably the best option you got here—since,” he lifted an eyebrow, seeing sunghoon in a state of shock.
“...you don’t wanna kill yourself.”
the cashier scanned all the one wish willows for sunghoon.
——
sunghoon knocked on jake’s door—loud, frantic, over and over until jake finally opened it, looking confused.
“hey, what’s up? you almost knocked my door over.”
sunghoon ignored it and pushed past him into the house. jake closed the door behind. the friend wanted to ask about the stain and blood on sunghoon’s shirt, but didn’t get the chance to when sunghoon began.
“is haewon here?”
jake frowned at his friend’s urgency before shaking his head. “no… she left cause she wanted to check up on yn…”
“what—?! fuck, uhm, okay, listen to me first. listen to me well. you know—you know how yn started acting all weird and liking me all of a sudden?”
jake nodded slowly, still confused. “...yeah?”
sunghoon pulled out one of the one wish willow boxes from his pocket and held it in front of jake with shaky fingers.
“it’s ‘cause… it’s ‘cause i made a wish. i made a wish—and i broke this twig and at first i was confused as hell but it’s real!”
jake frowned, staring back and forth between sunghoon and the box. “what…?”
“no, it’s real!” sunghoon insisted, voice shaking. “you can make a wish, but just one! just one… and it’ll work. i wished yn loved me, and i didn’t think it was gonna work but it worked and it’s why she’s acting insane all of a sudden!”
sunghoon’s voice cracked. “you don’t even recognise her anymore.”
a beat.
jake took it all in, quiet for a long moment. then he looked at sunghoon with wide, stunned eyes.
“...you made a wish… on yn?”
sunghoon looked down on the box in his hands. “...yeah.”
jake was shocked, almost disgusted. it felt as if he didn’t know who was standing before him. “why the fuck would you do that… why the fuck would you wish something like that on her?”
“because i fucking like her, jake!” sunghoon exploded. “i fucking like her and you know it and you would’ve done the same too if you had this! and—and i know you guys have been fucking!”
jake’s face hardened. “what the fuck? that’s none of your business! and for the record, you know i liked yn first. you fucking know it but you decided to like her too and i’m too kind of a friend to give that to you!”
he snapped, heart pounding. jake’s never fought with sunghoon this bad, ever.
quietly, like a murmur, he continued, “and no, i’m not that big of an asshole to wish something like this.”
sunghoon scoffed, bitter. “sure. right. ‘cause you’re yn’s most perfect guy that she loves. because you’ve been with her since childhood—so naturally, you guys are meant to be together? is that it?.”
the tension in the room was suffocating.
not being able to stand jake anymore, sunghoon swallowed the lump in his throat before storming away from the house, slamming the door behind him loudly.
——
“...yn…?”
the house was dark except for the slivers of sunlight cutting through the curtains and the candles flickering across the house. the air smelled like wax, and heavy with metal.
you were nowhere to be found.
but on the coffee table was a memorial, or at least what looked like it—photos of sieun, locks of her hair, her eyeball that threatened to roll out of the skull, her id, and her belongings from the car.
there was also stuff of haewon’s, arranged carefully with flowers and little trinkets. it looked like a shrine too.
next to the table, on the tv—played clips of sunghoon sleeping, with you recording and appearing every now and then.
sunghoon’s stomach dropped. “yn…?”
“i’m right here, baby.”
you stepped out from behind him.
you were wearing sieun’s clothes—a short denim skirt, boots, and a tight tank top. your hair was cut shorter, choppy, and you’d stabbed a nose piercing through your nostril. blood still trickled down from the fresh wound.
you smiled at him sweetly.
“do you like me better now?”
sunghoon was stunned, shocked into silence. his mouth opened, but no words came out. he couldn’t get his eyes off you.
“...yn… yn, i need you to do something for me… okay?”
you tilted your head, eyes wide and glassy. even after all these, you still weren’t enough for him.
“why can’t you just love me? why don’t you love me?”
you started hitting yourself—hard, open–palmed slaps against your own face until sieun’s rings and bracelets split your cheek open, fresh blood running down.
“i just want you to love me!”
“stop! stop!”
you stopped, standing still. sunghoon stumbled backwards, backing away slowly, terrified. you stepped closer, voice dropping obsessively, hungrily, and almost sweetly inhumane.
“gosh, i want to eat you up… i want to be with you,” you licked your lips, tilting your head as you followed him. “i want you to love me… i love you more than anyone else in this world…”
sunghoon’s breath hitched.
outside, a loud knocking started on the door.
jake’s voice came through, urgent.
“dude, i’m sorry! i’m so sorry—tell me again what’s happening and let’s fix it! can we still save her?!”
sunghoon’s eyes widened. he fell back onto the couch, mouth open like he wanted to scream at jake not to come in—but he couldn’t bring himself to. the words died in his throat as he’s forced to look at you.
you straddled his lap, eyes wild and unhinged. the screaming outside grew louder as jake kept banging on the door.
“hoon—i’m coming in! shit, i’m coming in!”
you pressed the tip of the knife you’d been holding right in front of your left eyes, smiling with pure psychotic glee as blood trailed out of your mouth.
“i’ll kill myself, hoonie! i’ll fucking kill myself right in front of you!”
the horror in sunghoon’s face was pure. his body was shaking as he stared at the blade hovering too dangerously close to your eye.
right at that moment, you turned with crazy speed and hurled the knife toward the door.
THUD.
the blade sank deep right into jake’s chest the second he forced the door open. he stumbled back, eyes wide with shock as blood instantly soaked his shirt. he collapsed, back hitting the door shut.
dead, before he even hit the ground.
almost instantly, you turned back to sunghoon, fisted the collar of his shirt before screaming—
“i’ll rip my fucking eyes out of my skull and shove them up my fucking cunt, hoonie!”
you vomited stomach acid right at his face. sunghoon flinched, shutting his eyes as the warm, burning liquid slid down his skin.
he was trembling, broken, unsure what to do or what was real anymore, but the words still came out soft and full of the love that had ruined everything.
“i love you. i love you, yn. i love you.”
you screamed at him, eyes wild. “scream it!”
“i love you! i love you, yn!”
like a flick of a wrist, you fell on top of him, sighing contentedly as you rubbed your cheek against his chest. your voice dropped into that sickly sweet tone again.
“i know… i know. i love you too, baby. you owe me that. you owe me that.”
sunghoon’s voice was hoarse and dry as he lifted his arms to wrap them around your frail body. “we can… we can work this out.”
his hand came upon your head, brushing your hair.
“mmhm. mmhm. i’m sorry for the drama… ugh, i don’t know why i do that. i know you love me. i’m gonna stop on the mollies…”
he nodded slowly, still in shock. if you could feel, or hear his heartbeat—you didn’t comment.
you nuzzled closer, kissing his jaw. “i’m such a mess… i’ll be pretty again, i promise."
“no, no,” he whispered, holding you tight as he planted a kiss on top of your head. “you’re gorgeous, baby. i love you so much. i love you.”
“i’m sorry—”
“you’re beautiful. my beautiful girl.”
you smiled against his neck, all soft and loving.
“i love you so much. more than anyone else in this world.”
he knew that.
sunghoon closed his eyes and looked up, tears slipping down his cheeks. he’s fucked up. he’s fucked up like no one else ever did before. he’d ruined you—an angel, the sweetest girl anyone’s ever met. he’d turned you into a version of yourself not even your parents could recognise—admit it was theirs.
a version not even you, would know.
“let’s take a shower. let’s take a shower, okay? freshen ourselves up.”
you hummed happily. “mmhm.”
——
“open up! open this fucking door, hoonie!”
you were yelling and slamming on the door like manic, voice shifting from wild rage and sickly sweet.
“baby, please… i’m sorry, i’m so sorry—did i scare you? just open the door. i love you. i love you so much. don’t leave me! don’t you dare leave me—!”
“let me in, bitch! fuck you, fuck you!”
“oh shit—just a second, baby! just a second!” he screamed back.
“okay, just a second. thank you!”
sunghoon stood in front of the sink, staring back at himself in the mirror. his face was bloodied—did some belong to him? some yours, some sieun’s. he’d like to think jake’s and haewon’s were there too.
his eyes were empty. he couldn’t cry if he wanted to. there was just nothing left.
he touched the onyx necklace you had given him, the stone cold—meant for protection and grounding, felt meaningless in his hand.
“baby?”
a beat.
“i thought about what you said, and maybe you were right… we need some time apart for us…”
sunghoon opened the cabinet with shaking hands and pulled out a razor. he held it to his wrist, then his throat, then his neck—aiming for the spot that would it fast.
his hand trembled as he pushed the blade deeper into his skin, not yet puncturing, but making a dent.
he couldn’t do it.
“if space is what you need—then sure, okay, we can take some space.”
sunghoon pulled away with a deep breath, shaking his head and tossing the razor aside. he rubbed his face and pressed the heels of his palms deep into his eyes—praying this was all some sick nightmare that was about to end.
and then he’d wake up, and everything will be fine. you’ll invite him over for a movie night where he would come in bringing popcorn and drinks. and he’ll confess—tell you everything he’s been keeping to himself.
just like the way he rehearsed it.
“i’m really sorry for scaring you, hoonie. i just—i just love you but i want to respect your decision.”
instead, sunghoon opened the cabinet again and found the old bottle of insect poison pellets—the same ones that had killed kibbles.
he sat on the toilet, staring at the bottle for a long moment. he knew there was no turning back. he poured one pellet into his palm, then put it in his mouth and swallowed it.
not convinced enough, he dumped the rest of the bottle straight into his mouth and forced them all down, choking them dry.
“hoonie…? baby, please open the door…”
sunghoon got off the toilet and rested his forehead against the door, when he knew you were standing and waiting for him on the other side of the door.
he spoke softly, exhausted.
“um, yn… i… i’m really sorry.”
he swallowed hard, eyes closed.
“i’ve liked you for so long. so fucking long. i just… i couldn’t find the courage to confess. i thought you didn’t like me back and i was scared of losing you,” sunghoon said, the tip of his nose brushing against the hard wood.
“and now… now this is happening and there’s nothing i can do to fix it. i just like you so much. i love you so much.”
a beat of silence.
it felt like hours passed in a matter of seconds.
then a whisper, barely audible through the door—
“she likes you too.”
sunghoon’s eyes snapped open.
“what?”
before something shifted.
a spark ignited within him. the world snapped back into focus as the heavy fog that clouded everything lifted.
his eyes widened. he stared at the bathroom door like it was the first time he was seeing it. slowly, sunghoon opened the door and walked out.
you were standing across from him, smiling shyly at him, a little nervous, a little hopeful. your hands are clasped in front of you. all sweet and innocent girlfriend.
he smiled back.
the two of you laughed together.
it was romantic when he approached you. sunghoon leaned in and kissed you passionately, hands cupping your face. his lips moved against yours with all the love and longing he had. on your tiptoes, you cupped his cheeks as well and with a soft flick of his tongue, you parted your lips partly and he wasted no time slipping his tongue in, overlapping and dancing your own.
“i love you,”
when sunghoon pulled back slightly, his face was covered in blood from your wound, but neither of you cared.
then suddenly, his knees buckled.
sunghoon collapsed—but you caught him, lowering him onto the sofa on your lap. pure panic flooding your face as you cradled his cheeks, hands trembling.
“baby… babe… oh gosh, don’t leave me alone—what did you do? oh gosh, baby no!”
your voice cracked, high and desperate, as you searched his face for anything. his eyelids fluttered, skin already turning clammy. you could feel his warmness fading beneath your palms.
“no, no, no—stay with me. stay with me, baby,” you whispered, pressing frantic kisses to his forehead, his temples, his lips. tears streamed down your cheeks, mixing with the blood still drying on your hands. “you can’t leave me. i love you more than anything. i did everything for you… everything. don’t you dare go. i won’t let you.”
you wailed, hugging his head tightly to your chest, rocking him back and forth. you stroked his hair while the other clutched his shirt, fingers digging into the fabric as if that could hold his soul down.
sobs wrecked your entire body as you buried your face in his hair, breathing in his scent. his breathing was growing weaker and shallower—white foam of saliva began forming to the corner of his mouth as his body went limp.
"i love you... i love you so much, hoonie, please—"
his body gave one final, weak shudder in your arms.
then everything went still.
for a heartbeat, the room was silent except for your ragged breathing.
the moment his heart stopped beating, you snapped back.
your eyes widened in horror—followed by a blood-curdling scream ripped from your throat as you shoved yourself backward, letting sunghoon's limp body fall onto the bloodied floor with a dull thud.
you stared at your bloodstained hands first—they were coated in sticky crimson that you could probably never remove no matter how many times you washed your hands. then your gaze darted around the room, confused, panicked, scared.
jake's body slumped by the door, eyes still open.
the memorial of haewon's and sieun's on the table.
and... sunghoon's motionless on the floor when you'd pushed him off you.
the wish shattered, and reality crashed over you like ice water.
"no... no, no, no—"
you scrambled onto the sofa, pulling your legs up and hugging your knees tightly to your chest. your sobs came harder and harder, violent, whole body shaking as you rocked back and forth.
tears poured down your face as you buried it between your knees, screaming and sobbing louder. the weight of every horrible thing you had done—despite being only a witness hit you at once.
you ride him until you can’t take it anymore, so he makes you beg before he finally decides to help
⌗ 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓. mdni, explicit content, dom!riki, sub!reader, riding, degradation, humiliation, dirty talk, begging, manhandling, unprotected p in v, creampie, cum play, cum eating
( 🐈⬛ ) any feedback is welcome, i'd really appreciate it
You’re already soaked — dripping, honestly — when the thick head of his cock slides through your folds teasingly, and the second you start sinking down he lets out a low sound, half moan and half laugh, because having you on top is always fun for him.
Slowly, every thick inch stretches you, forcing your pussy to make room, and when your ass is flush against his thighs he’s so deep it causes a small, delicious ache in your stomach.
"Fuck, look at that… sitting on my cock like you were born for it," he murmurs, watching where you’re stretched open around him. "Your pretty little hole is swallowing me up. Go on then, baby. Show me how pretty you look riding me."
You start moving — lifting until only the swollen tip is left inside, then dropping down with a wet, filthy slap that makes both of you moan. It feels amazing at first — hands braced on his chest, fingers spreading over the muscles while you roll your hips and bounce, searching for that angle that drags over the perfect spot inside you every single time.
Riki just leans back against the pillows with one arm behind his head, the other lazily reaching up to pinch your nipple and then slap the side of your ass once you find a good rhythm. "Baby, your pussy’s squeezing me so tight every time you drop down… gripping like it doesn’t want to let me go. You love this, don’t you? Being stuffed full of me."
You nod, already out of breath, already starting to sweat. "Yes… yes, Riki."
He grins, amused. "Louder. Tell me how much you love my cock stretching you open."
"It feels so fucking good," you pant, speeding up. The wet sounds fill the room — slick, filthy, and constant every time you sink down. Your clit rubs against him on every downward motion, building fast, that hot pressure growing in your belly.
For a while, everything is perfect. You’re riding him hard, hair stuck to your damp forehead, little broken moans slipping out of both of you every time he bottoms out and sinks deep.
Then your thighs start to burn.
At first it’s just a mild burn you try to ignore, so you keep bouncing, keep chasing that peak. But the ache spreads, stronger and more insistent, and suddenly lifting yourself takes more effort than it should, making your rhythm falter.
You try to push through it, dropping down harder to compensate, but your legs are shaking now and the confident bounce from a minute ago is turning into something more clumsy, more messy.
Riki notices right away — of course he does — his eyes lighting up with amusement as that wicked little smirk forms on his mouth. "What’s wrong? You just got started. Don’t tell me those pretty legs are already giving out."
"I’m… I’m fine," you manage to say, trying to force your hips to keep moving like before.
You rise halfway and your thighs tremble so hard you almost lose your balance, falling back down with a small, clumsy bounce that doesn’t feel nearly as good — just an awkward, wet slide that leaves you full, but not fucked the way you need.
Riki laughs under his breath, low and delighted. "Look at you." His hands stay right where they are, on your hips, not helping, just holding, while he watches you struggle. "Poor thing… those pretty legs already giving out? I thought you wanted to ride me so bad."
Gritting your teeth and trying again, you push with everything you’ve got and make it halfway before your muscles just give up. You sink back down with a frustrated, needy sound, his cock still buried deep inside you, stretching you while you sit there, useless.
"I can do it," you insist, voice a little desperate. "Just… give me a—"
"No." He doesn’t even pretend to be nice. "Keep going. Figure it out. You wanted to ride me so bad, remember? Climbed on top of me like you could handle it. So ride. Don’t just sit there like a useless cumdump with my cock stuffed in you."
His words hit you right between the legs and somehow make everything hotter instead of humiliating. You try again — push up and manage a few small bounces that are more friction than actual riding.
Riki’s cock slides in and out of you in short, uneven strokes and it’s still good, still stretches you perfectly, but it doesn’t come close to the hard, deep fucking you were giving yourself a minute ago. You’re dripping onto his balls now, making a mess of both of you.
"That’s not bouncing," he says, voice dripping with amusement. "That’s lazy grinding. I want to feel you bouncing on my cock like you actually mean it. Come on… Up and down. Up and down. It’s not that hard. Or is it? Is my cock too big for you to handle when you have to do the work?"
You moan, trying harder until your arms start shaking too from bracing on his chest. Every time you manage to lift yourself, he just watches with that same cruel little smirk, not offering a single bit of help — just holding your hips and feeling you struggle. "Riki—"
"What? Need something, baby?" He tilts his head, pretending to be confused. "That pretty little brain of yours stopped working the second my cock went in you, huh? Can’t even talk right when you’re this full…"
"My legs… are shaking," you admit, voice low, frustrated and already starting to crack. "I can’t… I can’t keep going like this.
"Aw. So weak." He squeezes your hips, holding you right there so you feel every inch of him pulsing inside your stretched pussy. "Look at you. You’re stuck, can’t even lift yourself off my cock anymore. That’s so fucking pathetic. Poor baby thought she could ride a cock and now she’s just sitting here, dripping and useless."
You lean forward, try to use more of your arms, manage two small clumsy lifts before your thighs give out completely and you collapse back down.
His cock pulses inside you like it’s laughing at you too because you’re so wet it’s embarrassing — slick and shiny, dripping down over his balls.
"Please," you whisper, face burning.
"Please what?"
Your voice comes out small and needy. "Help me, just… move me, or thrust up. I can’t do it by myself anymore."
Riki’s smile is pure malice. "No. I like watching you struggle. It’s cute. So keep trying."
You do — God, you do — lifting with shaky legs, falling, lifting again, each attempt weaker than the last until you’re basically just squirming on top of him, barely moving with his cock still buried deep in your pulsing, soaked pussy and tears of frustration pricking at the corners of your eyes. "Riki, please… I need help. My legs can’t take it anymore. Please, just… fuck me, I’ll do anything, just help me."
He hums like he’s considering it. "Anything, huh? Beg properly then. Let me hear how much you need it."
You’re past pride at this point — your pussy is pulsing around him and the need is almost painful now that you’ve stopped moving.
"Please, Riki," you beg, voice thick and face hot with shame. "Please help me. Please fuck me. I need you to use me, I’ll be good, I’ll take it however you want, just help me bounce on your cock again. Please, I’ll be your little sex toy, just don’t leave me sitting here dripping."
He lets the begging hang in the air for a few long, humiliating seconds, just watching you sit there shaking and full of him, cheeks flushed, eyes watery, completely at his mercy, then he laughs, low and cruel.
"That’s what I wanted to hear." He lifts you like you weigh nothing and drops you back down hard, making you cry out as his cock sinks deep. "Had to beg just to keep getting fucked, dumb baby."
He starts moving you, using your body like a toy — lifting you until only the tip is stretching your entrance, then dropping you back down onto his cock over and over while you cling to his shoulders and moan uncontrollably. "Couldn’t even finish riding me by yourself… so pathetic. You thought you were gonna bounce on this cock until I came, and instead you lasted what, three minutes? How cute."
You can only moan, nod, and take the way he bounces you on his cock. Throughout the thrusts he keeps mocking you — calling you weak, calling you a lazy slut, saying how sad it is that your pretty legs gave out so fast, how your pussy is still dripping for him anyway — and every filthy word makes your pussy clench tighter around him.
"You gonna cum like this?" he asks, slamming you down hard so you feel every inch dragging along your walls. "Gonna cum while I do all the work because you’re too tired to ride?"
"Yes, yes, I’m gonna cum… please don’t stop. It feels so good."
He keeps using you, keeps bouncing you on his cock like you weigh nothing, until the pleasure finally explodes and you cum hard around him, shaking, crying out and clenching so tight he groans.
Your pussy milks him in little pulses while he fucks you without stopping, still lifting and dropping you, still murmuring how weak, pathetic and perfect you look falling apart on his cock.
The grip on your hips gets hard enough to hurt, and he growls low in his throat as he drops you down one last time and holds you there, buried to the hilt. "Take every drop like a good girl."
Thick, hot pulses flood deep inside you, painting your walls while he uses your limp body to milk himself.
Riki doesn’t give you more than a few seconds to catch your breath before he moves. One second you’re still collapsed on his chest and the next he’s flipping you onto your back. He hovers over you, bracing one hand beside your head while the other stays firm on your thigh.
He reaches between your legs, wraps his fingers around the base of his cock and slowly — fucking slowly — pulls it out. You feel every thick inch drag along your sensitive, swollen walls, and the second the head pops free, a thick, hot gush of cum follows it.
Your pussy clenches hard around nothing, with little spasms, and more of it leaks out in slow, messy pulses. You can feel it dripping, thick and sticky, leaking from your cunt and running down, straight toward that tight little hole between your cheeks.
Riki just stares — dark eyes, lips parted, completely focused on the way your pussy keeps pushing out his cum in little contractions. "Fuck… look at that. Your greedy hole can’t even hold it in. Look how much of me you’re wasting."
You moan, thighs shaking, face burning, and try to close your legs a little out of pure shame. But he doesn’t let you — the hand on your thigh squeezes hard, then starts slowly stroking the sore, trembling muscle that gave out earlier.
His fingers slide down, carefully gathering the white fluid that leaked out of you — a bit of the sticky trail sliding toward your ass, a bit from your folds — and then pushes two fingers back into your pussy.
You gasp at the sudden stretch, still so sensitive it’s almost too much, and he just watches your face while he works his cum back inside you, slow and careful. He curls his fingers, scoops, pushes deeper, making sure every drop gets shoved back where he wants it.
"There, back where it belongs," he says, voice rough with satisfaction as he feels you squirm helplessly around his fingers. "Not gonna let it go to waste just because your pussy’s too fucked out to hold it. Stay open for me. That’s it… take it back. Good girl."
He keeps pushing more in until your hole is full again, only then does he pull his fingers out — shiny and covered in cum mixed with your own slick. Without warning he brings them straight to your mouth. "Open."
You hesitate for half a second and he raises an eyebrow, the hand on your thigh giving a small squeeze that makes the ache come back. You part your lips and he slides those two fingers onto your tongue, pressing enough that you taste everything — his cum, your own wetness.
He watches with satisfaction as you suck, hollowing your cheeks, tongue working between his fingers. "That’s it, good girl. Get every drop."
When he finally pulls his fingers out, they’re shiny with your spit, so he wipes them on the inside of your thigh, right over the sore muscle, spreading the wetness on your skin, then leans in so his mouth is close to your ear. “Next time you wanna ride, try not to be so pathetic and last more than three minutes.”
a lot of cursing; argument; reader is anemic; ni-ki is a lil asshole;
3,386: WC. For this request✉️
I don’t like the nonchalant agenda but I lwk didn’t know what else they could argue abt
“You’re so full of shit.” You scoff, leaning back in your seat as you cross your arms.
You see him turn to you in your peripheral, but you don’t acknowledge that he did until the car comes to a stop alongside a curb.
“If you’re going to talk shit, at least have the energy to say it to my face.” He says, parking the car as he turns towards you.
You’re right—he probably knows you’re right—so you double down.
“How many times does something have to happen for you to get it through your fucking head that nobody cares about you or what you’re doing?” You ask, turning to him as well.
“Your stupid “Mr. nonchalant” act is starting to get old and it makes you look like a bitch.”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck you too.”
Okay.
It’s all out now.
This is when you stop arguing and let it sink in that you both just spent the last 15 minutes arguing over the smallest thing.
“Get the fuck out of my car.” He says, pushing the lock button on the door console.
Woah, wait.
“Excuse me?” You ask, straightening up slightly as you try to figure out what he thinks he’s doing.
“What? All of a sudden you need me to repeat myself? Get out. Find your own way home.” He says, reaching over the center to unbuckle your seatbelt for you.
“It’s raining.” You remind, gesturing to the window.
“I can see that.”
I can see that.
As in, “I have eyes, I can see that it’s raining and I don’t care. Get out.”
Is that what he means?
You wait a bit, unsure if you’re hoping he’s making a bad joke or expecting him to take it back.
But he stands by his words, and the unchanging expression is enough to make it clear that he really does want you to get out of the car.
You don’t say anything then; you reach for your bag, open the door, step out, and you make sure to slam the door as you close it.
You start walking in the direction you both just came from, wanting to find a structure to get under so you can get yourself a car without the hassle of wiping your screen from the rain.
You don’t even take a second step before his car switches gears and pulls out of the space it was in and in the direction he was originally going in.
Maybe it was a bit dramatic to get so upset over him pulling his hand away when you tried to hold it at the restaurant, but you didn’t even start the argument; he did.
It was Ni-ki who brought it up once you got to the car; a not-so-gentle reminder that he’s asked you multiple times before not to hold his hand in public—or do any kind of PDA for that matter.
If it were a boundary he had in which he felt uncomfortable being touched, you’d respect it more.
But when it’s convenient for him, he’ll take your hand and even go as far as keeping his hand on your ass.
So yeah, you’re going to do whatever you want whenever you feel like it too.
“A driver will be with you shortly!”
“Estimated time: 30 minutes.”
Now, just imagine if they were busy.
You roll your eyes at the message, but what else can you do?
Thankfully, the bus stop you found with a structure also had a bench—a dry bench—so you at least had this to keep you sane.
You don’t have a lot of battery, so you try not to use your phone either.
It leaves you staring up at the street around you; empty, lit up by many street lamps and the signs of a few stores nearby, and the rain that’s been falling at a steady rate since you got out of the car.
“Did I take my meds this morning?” You wonder, stuffing your hands into your jacket’s pockets as you shudder.
Maybe it’s the low iron, but the rain isn’t helping either; you’re freezing.
And maybe the walk to this point took more from you than you expected it to; you’re exhausted.
₊‧⁺♱ ─── ni-ki
He didn’t get far.
Ni-ki started to regret his actions and the way he spoke to you rather quickly when you consider that he only drove a block down before he found a street to turn into.
He remembered exactly where he left you, and he expected you to be there or near there.
But he didn’t find you immediately, and that’s when he tried calling you, only for you not to respond.
It couldn’t have been more than 10 minutes that he left you, but you managed to get pretty far with how close you got to the public park.
You don’t react when his car pulls up in front of you; you’re leaning against the wall of the structure with your arms crossed and most of your hair is covering your face.
But Ni-ki doesn’t understand what that means until he’s approaching you, talking to you, and you don’t respond at all.
“You don’t have to talk to me, just get in the car.” Ni-ki says, taking his hoodie off as he prepares to use it as a makeshift umbrella.
“Babe.” He repeats, half kneeling beside you to look at you with your head pointed down like this.
As he comes under you, he realizes how relaxed your face is; you’re not pretending to be asleep, you actually are.
“Hey, cmon…” he says, his voice softer this time as he nudges your shoulder gently.
It takes a bit to wake you, but eventually you start coming to; nothing short of confused as you try to remember where you are as you understand that you either dozed off or fainted.
“Careful,” he says, steadying you as he drapes his hoodie over your shoulders.
You can recognize that the person helping you is your boyfriend, and even if you’re starting to remember more and more of what happened tonight, you aren’t going to push him away, you feel like shit.
Ni-ki pulls the hood over your head and counts off when he’s about to help lift you onto your feet; then he helps you back into the passenger seat and walks around the car in the rain himself, ending up about as wet as you got from the walk.
By the time he’s in the driver’s seat, you’re curled up in the passenger with your eyes closed tightly.
Before he starts driving, he turns the heater on as high as he can get it and points the fans at you, checking that the warm air is hitting you by putting his hand in front of you.
You’re unconscious for the entire ride, and if he didn’t know any better he would have driven you to a hospital.
But your boyfriend isn’t an inconsiderate idiot, and even if your apartment is farther than his, yours will have everything you need to get better.
So he drives the extra distance and gets you home.
He finds a space in the parking garage that would keep you from the rain and be the closest to the elevator that will take you up the building.
You won’t wake up properly this time around and you barely have the strength to sit upright, so Ni-ki picks you up and carries you instead.
You’re a little heavier than usual from the deadweight and the soaked clothes, but he manages.
He even manages to push your code into your keypad with you still in his arms; it’s only after he gets you on the couch that the muscles in his arms even started to feel anything.
He can only do so much with you absent.
He kneels beside you to take your shoes off, then moves up to take his hoodie and your jacket off; a mix of “baby” and “babygirl” before he gets a little desperate and uses your first name.
You fade in and out.
Mostly to try and push his hands away when they start to bother you or whine about him being too loud.
And just when he thinks you’ll stay awake and can tell him what to do, you’re out again, leaving him on his own.
Between Google searches and leading searches on social media, all Ni-ki can figure out is to let you rest.
Google says it’s an emergency if the person doesn’t regain consciousness after a minute, but you come in and out, so maybe it’s not as serious as fainting.
People on social media aren’t very helpful either; if he finds a video of someone with the same condition, explaining a similar situation, the comments are full of people with the same conditions but different symptoms.
You run cold, but apparently there are people with anemia who sweat no matter what they do, which is no help to you and fills his brain with information that’s probably just taking up space.
₊‧⁺♱ ───
Ni-ki watched you for a while; sitting nearby in his damp clothes until he realized he could get sick if he stayed in them.
You don’t seem in distress, and your breathing is even, so he takes the chance to take a quick shower and a change of clothes before he makes his way back to you.
But he comes back to find you exactly how he left you, so he has no choice but to commit to a spot on the smaller couch near the one you’re on.
Ni-ki sits there for hours, able to do nothing but sit and reflect on the night and your current condition.
Maybe it’s good that he overthinks and feels guilty.
The truth is, Ni-ki only knows so much about your condition; you do everything to keep it in check and hardly ever have any issues regarding it to this extent.
The self-soothing comes and goes:
Surely he didn’t cause this by making you walk in the rain; what does that have to do with your low red blood cells?
Right?
Right??
Thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait much longer for an answer; you start to stir and soon you’re sitting up slowly as he makes his way over.
He reaches out, but hesitates, unsure of what he could possibly do for you when you aren’t asking him for anything.
“Why are you here?” You ask, voice groggy as you rub your eyes to get them adjusted.
“You passed out—twice basically—I wasn’t going to leave you alone.” He says, looking up at you with a soft expression.
“I’m not passing out.” You sigh, making a face at the feeling of you wearing damp clothes, “I was lightheaded and I closed my eyes, I fell asleep.”
You try to stand but he won’t even let you do that on your own, Ni-ki helps you by giving you his arm to hold onto.
“What do we do first?” He asks, keeping one arm under yours while the other placed a hand on top of your arm.
“We’re not doing anything. You’re going home and I’m going to bed.”
You pull your arm out of his hold, making your way to the bathroom to try and shower before bed.
He nearly considers listening to you, but he isn’t angry anymore, and you shouldn’t be either, not when it’s your health that’s been affected.
“Don’t do this,” he begins, trailing behind you, “I went back for you—if I cared about the stupid argument you’d probably still be on that bench.”
You ignore him for the most part; continuing to make your way to the bathroom slowly.
You’re still tired, and you can feel a headache start to come on; but you don’t feel as bad anymore, maybe because you got your sleep.
“I’m not leaving.” He says firmly, staying just outside the door as you enter the bathroom.
You don’t acknowledge that last bit, quick to close the door on him to do what you want to do in the shower.
Ni-ki sighs, slightly defeated, but stubborn nonetheless and already turning away to figure out how he can be useful some other way.
He finds you some clothes, opening the bathroom door just to leave them on the counter; he dries off the leather couch you’d been sleeping on; and then he sits and waits in the living room again.
You don’t spend too long in the shower, and you come out in the same clothes he left, which gives him hope.
“What time is it?” You ask, standing nearby and a little off to the side.
Ni-ki stands up, fumbling a little as he finds his phone and checks.
“A little past 12.” He answers, closing the gap a little.
You sigh softly, closing your eyes for a moment as you try to remember everything you’d planned out in the shower.
“I need to eat something,” you begin, “it’s late so I’m not going to make you go home, and you should go to sleep if you have an early morning.”
“I’m not going to sleep any time soon, so you shouldn’t wait for me.” You add.
He shakes his head, coming up beside you and reaching out to bring his hand around your waist, “I’m not tired, let me help you.”
Despite the doting and the slight annoyance it causes, you let him help you across the space and into the kitchen.
You search your fridge, trying to find something quick and easy, and decide on an orange.
And just before you can fully turn around into the sink, Ni-ki takes it from you and starts peeling it for you.
You let him; watch from the side as some of the orange starts dripping down his hands over the sink and the entire time until he hands it over.
“Thank you…” you say softly, pulling the halves apart while he washes his hands.
You eat the parts slowly as you lean against the edge of the counter, but when he’s done washing and drying his hands, you take the chance to stand closer to him until you can lean against him comfortably.
He doesn’t expect it, but he doesn’t bring it up so you don’t get taken out of it and put the distance back.
Instead he wraps one arm around you and brings the other up to your head, holding you that way.
“I’m sorry.”
You nuzzle into him a little; your head is still pointed away from him so you don’t get him dirty.
“I took it too far, I shouldn’t have called you a bitch…” you sigh, holding up the orange to offer him some.
“Yeah, well I shouldn’t have pushed your hand away…so we’re even.” He adds, declining the offer before he tucks some of your hair away from your face.
His knuckles brush up against your cheek and he feels how warm you’ve gotten since he last touched you.
Maybe you just took a warm shower though, it would make sense if you were colder than usual.
“Shouldn’t you be doing more? Taking a medication? Licking your iron block or something?” He asks, moving you both slightly so he can look at you directly.
“It’s almost 1 in the morning, I’ll take my meds in a few hours and make myself breakfast with the block so I get back any iron I lost.” You shrug.
“It’s not likely that I’ll pass out again, especially in a bit when I go to bed.” You assure.
Ni-ki nods, storing this in his memory just like he did the rest of his research.
“Can I ask you something?” He sounds serious, but there’s a hint of something else, like it’s not really relevant.
“Mhm,”
“The rain didn’t…trigger your anemia…did it?” He asks, wording it in a funny way only because he genuinely had no idea how else to.
You stifle a laugh, finishing up your orange then.
“I’m seriously asking-“ he says, looking at you slightly embarrassed as you pick your head up.
“What does the rain have to do with my iron or my red blood cells?” You chuckle.
That’s the exact same thing he thought.
Which makes him feel a little foolish for letting it get to his head.
“I don’t know, I’m not anemic— and I was worried.” He defends.
You don’t comfort him by explaining it immediately; you turn away from him to wash your hands as you try to remember how it works in the first place because you don’t even think about the why that often.
“I was lightheaded because I wasn’t getting enough oxygen to my brain, then I blacked out for a bit while my body slowly started getting enough of it to get it working again.”
“What about when we got here? You didn’t wake up then.” He points out, quick to remember everything that happened while he was on his own.
“It takes a lot of my energy, I was just tired.” You shrug.
“So that’s it then? You would have passed out in my car in the middle of our argument if I’d kept you?”
“Probably.”
He rolls his eyes, sulking a bit as he feels like he made a big deal over nothing.
“Aw, did you think it was bad? Would you have taken me to a hospital?” You tease, picking at his arm.
“Can we just go to bed? I’m over this.” He sighs, crossing his arms.
“Oh, you’re over this? Funny, I don’t get that option.” You say, nudging him a little harder.
“This is the first time you’ve ever done this, you have it under control.” He points out, suggesting that you don’t deal with this daily.
“First time…” you repeat, walking ahead, “that you know of.”
He lags behind, eventually trailing behind you with a million questions about whether you’ve fainted before and if you’d dealt with them alone or if they were before you both got together.
You don’t feel like going through it all, so you lie and say you haven’t fainted in years; really, you’ve gotten extremely close many times since your diagnosis and just manage it however you can when it happens.
₊‧⁺♱ ───
With how late you both go to bed, you have an even later morning.
Ni-ki wakes up at around 11 to a few texts asking where he is and he has to lie and say that he’s not feeling well and can’t go.
But just before he can settle back in, he tries to cuddle up beside you and is woken up completely by how hot you are.
The back of his hand touches your forehead, your cheeks, your neck, as much of your chest as your shirt will allow, and then your arms before he determines that you have a fever.
This was most likely caused by the rain; it has nothing to do with you.
This is more within his capabilities, and even if he knows you won’t like it, he knows you can’t get any warmer.
So he pulls the blankets off you; pushing them to the foot of the bed with his feet until you’re both completely uncovered.
You stir for a bit, then reach around you for the blankets.
and when that doesn’t work you press up against him a little more.
He lets this slide; the room is pretty cold on its own, especially with the cool weather outside because of the rain, so it’ll work how he wants it to.
And just while he waits for that to happen, he’s making an order on his phone for a delivery service to get a few groceries for him.
Medicine for the most part; but he find packs of step-by-step soups he can make and that’s all he can think to buy for now you take some medicine.
Still he can’t help himself, and after making his order, he’s on Google yet again; asking if there are any links between anemia and a high fever.
Anything but acknowledging that this could have been avoided had he not made you get out of the car.
He seriously needs to find a better way to apologize for that; a simple sentence isn’t going to cut it.
♯ livi's note ⋮ hello friends! i'm super excited to be posting some stuff again and i'm going to start with this nsfw alphabet prompt! if there are any particular members y'all want next, feel free to request those in the comments or my inbox, but i hope you guys enjoy this and are excited for the other members too!
♯ interactions and feedback are very much appreciated! requests too!
⭑.ᐟ a = aftercare (what they're like after sex)
ni-ki genuinely gets into sex so much that he’s exhausted at the end, but not nearly as much as you are. he’ll drag himself up off the bed eventually once his heart stops pounding dramatically in his chest, but it’s usually just to lug his heavy limbs to the bathroom. he grabs a washcloth or wipe and will clean you up gently (sometimes too gently and he’ll leave some fluids somewhere that just get nastily sticky overnight but oh well) but after that, nothing else is game until the morning.
he definitely crashes hard once that simple thing is taken care of and you’ve got to wriggle out of his hold to go pee before you fall asleep, but he’s a very good cuddler, that’s for sure. every part of him is pressed to you as you sleep, and it honestly makes the full clean up in the morning a lot more anticipated because of how sticky the two of you still are with sweat when you wake up to an alarm or the morning sun.
but yeah, the shower the morning after is incredible and he claims it’s life changing every single time. well only because he gets to wash your tits and squeeze your ass, and you wash his hair like he loves.
ni-ki just can’t help his exhaustion and it’s his own fault, but he still tries to make as much of an effort as he can to give you aftercare before the two of you are off to dreamland. he does his best and you’re okay with that, especially with the princess treatment you get before he’s done with you.
⭑.ᐟ b = body part (favorite of theirs and their partner)
ni-ki’s favorite body part of his is his abdomen, specifically his abs and rib area where he’s got his side tattoo and kiss mark tattoo. he’s got an obsession with how it looks in the mirror when he’s shirtless and standing there after a shower, and hey, you love everything about him, but the abs and tattoos get you too.
he’s caught you drooling over the toned muscle and ink before, and it’s certainly not the last time he’ll see that from you. in fact, he’s even offered to let you ride his abs before, one plush thigh surrounding the ink on his right side and the other on his bare left ribcage. god it was an experience for the both of you too. the flexed ridges offered such a great thing to grind up against and every roll of your hips made your eyes roll back as sparks of pleasure exploded in your stomach.
ni-ki absolutely loved it and his own eyes were rolling back watching you. it was a sight to behold and he even came in his pants with how aroused he was at providing you pleasure and just watching as the hard work he’d put in his physique paid off in a way he’d never pictured before you entered his life.
and yes it’s quite obvious, but ni-ki is an ass man and will be until he dies. it’s nothing but obvious with the way he touches the members’ butts so why would he pass up getting to squeeze your cute ass whenever he wants.
it’s just so bouncy and bubbly and he loves it. like he loves it to the point that it’ll be the first body part he’ll kiss after your clothes come off in his room during the beginning of an intense night. and don’t even get him started on when he fucks you in doggy style and can smack your ass freely as the spanking sounds mix with those of wet skin slapping where you two are connected. he’ll even feel you up in public sometimes, just absolutely craving the feeling of touching that supple skin almost like a stress toy. if it wasn’t weird and his hyungs didn’t call him out for it, he’d stick his hand in your butt pockets and hold you there instead of holding his hand.
⭑.ᐟ c = cum (anything to do with cum basically)
oh boy, ni-ki is definitely one of those men who can absolutely just shoot rope after rope of cum for what feels like forever after his orgasm starts. it surprised you when you gave him head for the first time and you had to pull off before you choked on all of his spend, the last few long spurts landing across your cheekbones and neck. some even ended up in your hair, which you forced him to help you wash it out after. that was one of the rare few times that he’s ever actually showered right after any sexual activities because after one or two orgasms unless he’s full of energy, he’s so drained he can hardly get up.
and of course since he’s absolutely an ass man, he loves cumming across your ass if he feels like pulling out or if you make him on your extremely fertile but horny days of your cycle. if not, he does really enjoy cumming inside but it does kinda make a mess, he will admit that.
he also likes seeing you slightly covered in his release after it dries since sometimes he’ll be too tired to get up and clean up with you. it’s almost like a little bit of a brand that he can leave on you, which he’s especially reminded of when he finally cleans the dried streaks off you but they leave a little residue.
⭑.ᐟ d = dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory)
secretly, ni-ki loves to show his skills off to other people, let it be from your noises as he plows into you or the members actually seeing him roughly fuck you during the few times you two have been walked in on accidentally. there’s just something about it. it’s not quite an exhibitionism kink but it’s more of a prideful thing that he likes to make sure people know sometimes.
those hotel rooms next to his when he’s snuck you in after a long concert have often complained about the noise but he could care less. the company’s used to it at this point and has given up on telling him to quiet down because they know he’s rebellious about it and loves to defy them as much as he can when it comes to that.
he doesn’t really get off to making you make your noises loud enough for other people to hear, but he’s definitely blown his load early multiple times by thinking about how loud he’s able to make you because he can make you feel just that good.
⭑.ᐟ e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)
ni-ki’s learned a lot of what he knows from videos, not from actual women. he’s only had one or two bodies before you, and he doesn’t plan on having any more if you ask him. you’re just too perfect of a girlfriend, inside and out of the bedroom, for him to ever want to break up and find a new girl to satisfy him.
his first time was with another idol his age. both she and him did it together as sort of just a way to get their virginities out of the way so they could say they’d at least done something. they’re still cordial to each other during music show appearances and the end of year award show interactions, but they’re not really close other than that. yes it was awkward and boring and not that pleasurable to be honest, but it was out of their kindness for each other and that’s what it was about.
he’s had maybe one more experience like that, but ni-ki much preferred to just get himself off before you came into his life. it’s just so much more risky to hook up with people, whether it’s another idol or not, and he got even more satisfaction from his own hand and some decent porn so why take the risk.
⭑.ᐟ f = favorite position (this goes without saying)
like i said above, ni-ki’s favorite position is one hundred percent doggy style. he’ll always love getting to stare right at your gorgeously plump ass as he pounds into you, and don’t even get him started about when you arch your back in that position too.
especially when you drop to your elbows and press your tits into the bed while doing this position, ni-ki never fails to blow his load a whole lot faster than he would in any other position. it’s just such a good sight he can’t resist.
and ni-ki swears, the first time that you fucked doggy style, he’s never come harder ever in his entire life. his eyes rolled back and there were spots all in his vision and everything. plus he was shaking like a leaf and whining like a husky the whole time during his orgasm.
⭑.ᐟ g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
ni-ki doesn’t tend to be very lighthearted during sex. it’s all very passionate and energetic in almost a rough way at times, but he’s very much locked in to the feelings of arousal and attraction, so he won’t just start laughing or crack a joke in the middle of sex, that’s for sure.
however, he is still the type to chuckle a bit at the beginning if the two of you start off with tussling around in the bed as you trade kisses and dodge around some of them. those are always fun ways to start off a couple of hours in bed with him. it always ends in a more fun night full of pleasure for the both of you only with less bruises from his hands and more hickeys on your neck.
⭑.ᐟ h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
ni-ki tends to give off more carefree vibes, so he probably only trims the hair down there instead of completely shaving or waxing it off. he thinks it’s honestly kind of a waste of his time that he could be spending dancing or doing something with you.
speaking of dancing, he’s also honestly worried that shaving or waxing down there would rub up against his pants and make his skin all irritated and screw up his artistry and all, so that’s also one of his real life reasons that he doesn’t do much other than clean it up a bit every little while. he won’t tell you that he’s too lazy for it but he’d definitely do more if you asked him to get rid of it.
thankfully you haven’t said anything about it so he can just go on with what he’s been doing for years regarding his hair down there, and in turn he really doesn’t care what you do with your bush either. you do prefer to be a little more cleaned up, but that’s also so that you can feel the sensations even better when he’s down between your legs, licking at your core like there’s no tomorrow. it also helps that you like feeling more bare and looking smooth when it comes time for summer and the tiny little bikinis that you wear to the private pool of the dorm building that ni-ki lives in.
⭑.ᐟ i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
ni-ki is still pretty young, so he’s not the most intimate compared to passionate and rough. the horny part of his brain tends to take over during any kind of sexual activities that take place between the two of you, but he still treats you well and gives you plenty of orgasms like you deserve. you’re his girl, but he’s not like jay where he treats you like a princess for every second and acts like you might break and you’re super fragile.
all the sweet talk and stuff like that really just doesn’t seem like ni-ki during the deed, but he will whisper some sweet things in your ear during aftercare if he can. he’s a nonchalant gentleman in the streets and a horny freak in the sheets.
⭑.ᐟ j = jack off (how often do they get themselves off? do they jerk off when you're not there?)
you’ve actually asked him if he’s ever gotten a blister on his dick with the way he used to talk about jerking off before he had you. like the man would be jerking it rough and dry twice a day, sometimes even more depending on his free time. yes, he did have lube but ni-ki’s far too into it by the time he’d use it and he leaks enough precum to be just barely avoiding getting any painful sores on his dick from constantly tugging on it.
and yes, he will absolutely still get himself off if he’s off on a tour and you can’t come with him. in fact he’s got a set time every night for you two to call and make yourselves feel good to each other doing so on video call. if you can’t make it, he’s got a whole contingency plan too. there are plenty of pictures, videos, and audios that you two have sexted to each other that he can also get himself off to.
⭑.ᐟ k = kink (one or more of their kinks)
first of all, the man loves to spank you because obvious reasons. that ass jiggles in the most satisfyingly arousing way and makes him cum faster than most anything. if his phone is dead while he’s away, he’ll just close his eyes and think of that ass and he’ll cum in literally less than two minutes. shhh don’t tell anyone but sometimes he’ll even just make you shake it in front of him and then he’ll end up spraying his seed all over the plump, bouncy flesh moments later.
ni-ki also has a bit of a phone sex kink. it means that he can see you all exposed, the sights only for him live, even when he’s halfway across the world from you. sure it’s a very good way for him to release the constant tension and arousal that he gets even when you’re not there, but it only serves as a warm up for the reunion sex when he finally comes back home to you.
also, he most definitely has an audio kink. hearing those sweet little moans come out of your mouth makes him so hard and just fuels his pride and ego even more at being able to satisfy you in an almost overcompensating way. it just tells people that he knows what he’s doing and you feel good, which is his exact mission as a horny boyfriend other than fucking you and having his own pleasure.
⭑.ᐟ l = location (favorite places to do it)
ni-ki can be considered one of the more traditional types of people that loves to fuck in his bedroom in the actual bed, but don’t mistake him for being vanilla when it comes to locations. he’ll fuck you standing up against the wall in his bedroom or even in the shower too. also, the members don’t know this but you two have definitely fucked on the couch in the living room and in the hallway while they were all gone.
for the most part, he enjoys keeping you to himself and locked away in his room, but it’s the noise of it all that he likes to show off no matter if the two of you are kept away from view with the closed and locked door. the bed makes it a lot more comfortable of a place to do numerous positions and round after round, but the other places are fun and enjoyable for you two if it’s just a round or two and then you move off to the comfy bed.
⭑.ᐟ m = motivation (what turns them on/gets them going?)
in general, you’re just a huge turn on for ni-ki because, duh, you’re his hot, attractive girlfriend. however, what attracts him the most about you is your ass obviously. he loves watching it and then getting to touch it, and then by that time he’s already gone, pulsing as his dick fills out to full hardness wherever you two may be.
and then of course when the two of you are going at it, your noises really get him even more turned on (if that’s even possible). the little whimpers and moans that you let out that keep getting louder and louder as he continues to play with you and then when he finally starts thrusting into you make the knot in his stomach so much tighter and his balls draw up so much quicker. he never fails to cum hard and fast with your cute noises.
⭑.ᐟ n = no (something they wouldn't do; turn offs)
considering how much he loves your noises, ni-ki doesn’t like the idea of choking you or using a gag. he wouldn’t be able to hear any of your pretty sounds, and that’s one of his favorite parts of sex (although sex is his favorite in general). also, when it comes to choking you, he’d be more worried that he’d hurt you than aroused. he’s just a lot bigger than you and his strength is a lot at times, and he’d be scared that he’d lose his careful control with his hand(s) around your neck and hurt you more than simply try a new kink.
⭑.ᐟ o = oral (preference in giving/receiving, skill, etc.)
this man absolutely loves oral, almost as much as your ass even. it’s honestly super hard for him to pick whether or not he likes giving or receiving more since he loves the sight of you sucking his dick, on your knees for him as your mouth stretches wide to accommodate his girth, but he also loves hearing those pretty noises in the background of him slurping up all of the arousal and spit that drips from your pussy when he eats you out.
one thing’s for sure, he’s definitely a head pusher. he’ll even hold your hair back for you in a makeshift ponytail as you go down on him, but don’t mistake that sweetness for him going gentle on you. he’ll straight up fuck your throat and moan and groan at the sound of your gags and gurgles around his dick and he loves it. he’s pretty well endowed too, but you’re used to his size now and can even deepthroat him for a little while before coming back up for a big gasp of air and some coughs from the rough treatment. let’s just say he didn’t last long at all when you did that for the first time.
ni-ki’s insanely talented at giving head for someone that’s only been with two girls before you, and he likes to claim that it’s natural but you know he studied a lot of porn before you two made that step in your relationship to finally become intimate with one another. (he doesn’t exactly remember admitting such, but it was when he was slightly drunk and loose-lipped from several bottles of soju). seriously, you get concerned that he’s going to run out of air down there with the way he keeps himself pressed up against your pussy for what seems like so many minutes at a time, but it’s hard to focus on that when he’s constantly flicking his tongue against your clit and then licking downwards and thrusting the muscle into your soaking wet core. god he was blessed with his oral talents because there’s no way any normal person could make your eyes roll back that much just from getting eaten out.
⭑.ᐟ p = pace (are they fast and rough? or slow and sensual? etc.)
ni-ki is not the sensual type and he’s not going to take things slow, that’s for sure. the second he sinks all the way into you, you know you’re about to get swiftly fucked into the mattress. his patience is very low once his dick has been all the way in your glisteningly wet pussy, and he’s going to set a very passionate pace at which he thrusts into you. he tried to go slow and make things all romantic and drawn out once but he gave up after like five thrusts since it really wasn’t doing that much for either of you. you both love a quick paced fuck and really are used to nothing else.
⭑.ᐟ q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
theoretically, ni-ki would love a good quickie but it’s just too short, as the name implies. yes, he could make that round quick since you never fail to make him cum easily for the most part, but he would not want to stop after just one round. he’s got way too much energy and horniness to get out to stop after just one or two orgasms for the both of you, so he’d be just getting started. the two of you can go round after round, night after night, so this wouldn’t exactly pan out well unless you had at least a few hours to spare.
⭑.ᐟ r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
he’d be pretty game to experiment with some new things, especially when they involve you and sex (which duh of course so yes absolutely). for anything purely exhibitionist or just plain nasty, he definitely wouldn’t bring it up or want to try it and same for you, but other than that he’d be open to a lot of new things to try out.
ahem, for instance anal play while he fucks you. uh yes please. or even spanking with different toys that would mark up that gorgeous ass of yours and say that he did it to you and you loved it.
⭑.ᐟ s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
his stamina is genuinely insane but you do a pretty good job of keeping up with him. like seriously the man can go for hours upon hours without getting tired thanks to the years of dancing and the stamina that it has given him in turn. he won’t get tired after hours of dancing plus hours of fucking. your personal record for rounds is like seven or eight but that was after an adrenaline filled night when the boys won the daesang at one of the biggest k-pop award shows in asia. on a regular night after ni-ki gets home from work or random rehearsals, you average about four rounds give or take.
however, you’re genuinely so attractive to him that he can bust a nut in anywhere from five minutes to thirty minutes. those rounds where he tries to hold it for longer really impress both him and you because you tend to make each other cum fairly quickly, but a lot of times after another.
⭑.ᐟ t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
ni-ki doesn’t actually own any toys and he hasn’t anytime in his life so far. he’s always been seen as the baby to his members until when the two of you started getting a little more careless to when you were vocal while fucking around the dorm or any hotels that they’re all staying at. he just never had the correct timing to get any, plus he always felt like what he did for himself or for you was working without having to buy a toy to help.
he does think that it might be a bit fun to experiment with some toys like a paddle or cock ring or even a vibrator for you in the future, but right now he’s pretty satisfied with his sex life without them. (all he would have to do though is walk right next door to heeseung’s room and the older man would surely have something to share, that’s for sure).
⭑.ᐟ u = unfair (how much they like to tease)
in a perfect world, ni-ki would love to tease you some to work you up before the foreplay and fucking even started, but he is not the patient saint he is in his dreams of playing with you. he just gets far too worked up far too quickly and if he doesn’t get his dick in your hole quick enough, his cock will tell his brain that it’s going to fall off without being in that warm, wet heaven of your pussy.
but if he was at least somewhat patient, he’d love to just blow on your clit and folds as he gently teased his fingers around your core, teasing you with his light touch as he watched your hole clench and leak slick as you begged him for more and more. honestly he could probably cum in his pants just at the sight and sound of that.
⭑.ᐟ v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
ni-ki can actually be pretty loud, but he doesn’t realize it until the hyungs or you mention it. he lets out deep, breathy moans that turn into higher-pitched, airy whines as he gets closer and closer to cumming, and you love those noises so much. in fact, they fuel the noises that you let out, which is what he’s only paying attention to. he certainly contributes to the noise complaints that you get, but he absolutely wants your noises to be the start of the show whether or not that’s actually true based on what can be heard outside of the room.
⭑.ᐟ w = wild card (a random thing about them)
once, ni-ki had been considering asking heeseung to have a threesome with you two. he’d heard quite a few things about how talented he was and wanted to use that to make you feel even more pleasure than he could give, but you talked him out of it since it was becoming an obsession of his that turned his thoughts against his incredible pleasuring skills instead. you told him that you could talk about it later, when ni-ki was more self-confident in himself and less selfless about his pleasure because you wanted him to want it for himself too, not just you.
⭑.ᐟ x = x-ray (let's see what's going on in those pants...how big are they?)
as they say, with height comes big dick and ni-ki is definitely a human embodiment of it. he’s around eight inches hard (20 cm for the metric people) and he’s pretty girthy too, although the length is what outdoes most other dicks. it’s a pretty big stretch for you still, even after a year and a half of being intimate with one another, but he’s just the right size to make the stretch oh so worth it. you’re often sore after a night with him, but it’s a good sore left from feeling so full and satisfied from him.
⭑.ᐟ y = yearning (how high is their sex drive? how often do they wanna do it?)
if this man could have sex with you twice a day every day, multiple rounds every time, he would. he is just that pent up and horny and he loves your body and you so so much. you are his stress relief and intimate partner and he would rather have nobody else. if you didn’t want to fuck, he’d respect your boundaries and tuck you into bed or send you on your way wherever you had to go, but you bet he’d be jerking it in the shower for at least thirty minutes after doing that.
⭑.ᐟ z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
he can fall asleep pretty quickly after you two wrap up the hours of sex that you love to have during the late evening, but that’s because it’s also how he purposefully tires himself out and makes the both of you feel so pleasured and satisfied at the same time. ni-ki does his best to stay awake at least to give you some aftercare like getting up and grabbing a damp cloth to clean you up in between your legs and getting you up sometimes to make sure you go pee and avoid any UTIs, but otherwise he’s out as soon as he gets the chance to lay back and snuggle up with you. he doesn’t mind at all the sticky sweat that’s cooling on your bodies since you two always shower it off in the morning, so nothing keeps him from falling into slumber once the little bit of aftercare he knows he needs to give you is done.
𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : college AU, smut (MDNI), exes-to-lovers, fast paced
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : swearing, jealousy, possessive behavior, ni-ki is the annoying ex, mention of cheating, mention of alcohol, smoking/vaping, hickeys, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, orgasm denial, light degradation, condescending praise
𝐰𝐜 : 6.5k {6.509}
❗️ None of the characters are meant to represent their real-life selves. Everything in this story is fictional and created purely for entertainment.
INSPIRED BY : Ur All Mine - Westwood
You sit across from Danielle at a small café table, your sketchbook open but ignored. She stirs her drink and leans in. “Maki’s birthday party is this weekend. You should just make it official with him already. You’ve been flirting for weeks.”
You nod once, eyes on the foam in your cup. Official sounds simple when she says it. In practice, it means another text from Ni-ki, obviously. He coincidentally always finds out about your dating history after him. Last month it was some guy from your art history class. The month before, a barista. Each time the message arrives at odd hours and it's always a question or a rude observation, never asking to get back together nor admitting jealousy. He only wants to remind you he knows.
You set your cup down. “I’ll think about it.”
Danielle raises an eyebrow. “That’s it? Come on. Maki’s pretty fun. You two click.”
You shrug. The real reason sounds so stupid that if you tell her what it really is, she will never let it go. Ni-ki works his underground gigs, tags walls at night, within the fact that he's disgustingly rich. He stays out of your classes and your schedule. You study late in the studio, mix paints, build installations. Neither of you reaches out first anymore and it’s great like that. But your dating life? That pulls him back every time, like clockwork.
The party is two days away. You already know how it will go.
You lean back in your chair and tap your fingers on the edge of the table while thinking. “Yeah, maybe.”
Danielle snorts. “Maybe? Be fucking for real. He’s been texting you every day. What’s the hold up?”
You pick up your cup and take a sip. “It’s not that deep. I’ll see how the party goes.”
She rolls her eyes. “Don't make it a big deal, anyway. You can't let men get to your head.”
You nod once and change the topic to her upcoming exam. Inside your head, you could already picture the message that will come after the party. Ni-ki, jealous as always, pretending he doesn’t care. And of course he will never miss an opportunity to make a mean comment on the guys you talk to, or even try to ruin the beginning of a flirt. Even if he’s the one who fucked all this up and made you who you are now. All of that, without holding an entire conversation with you.
You push open the door to your apartment and drop your bag on the couch. Your phone rings when you’re about to sit down. It’s written Maki on the screen.
“Hey, are you coming to my party Saturday?” he asks right away.
“Of course, I’ll be there.”
“Cool. Do you wanna match outfits? Wear white. We’ll look good together.”
You chuckle. “Damn, bossy as hell. What if I wear black just to fuck with you?”
“Hmm, then I’ll find you and make you change. Or take it off. Your call.”
“Keep dreaming.” you say, smiling despite yourself. The back and forth stays light for another minute and you bring yourself to tell him you need to finish some sketches.
“See you Saturday then, white outfit. Don’t you dare flake.”
You hang up and toss the phone on the bed. A few minutes later you open Instagram. One of your classmate’s stories pops up first. You scroll through it and freeze. In the background, clear as day, Ni-ki stands close to some girl, his hand near her waist while she laughs at one of his stupid joke he probably said. Of course it’s confusing when your ex ; who did you dirty ; exposes himself without an ounce of shame with another girl, and has the nerve to make a single comment on your situationship.
“Fuck.” you mutter under your breath. You close the app, set your phone face down, and turn off the light to drift into sleep.
───
You wake up. It’s Thursday morning and you text Danielle to meet for shopping. By ten you both walk through the mall, racks of clothes between you. You pull out a short plain white dress and hold it up.
“This one?”
Danielle nods. “Try it. Maki said white, right? I think it’ll work.”
You change in the fitting room, step out, and turn to look at the overall. You subtly notice that it bunches up behind your butt when you walk, but it’s not going to be a big of a problem, is it?. Who cares anyway? The dress fits so you obviously buy it. After that you head to the food court and split a large order of fries and two sandwiches at a table by the window.
Halfway through your food you look at her. “Do you think I’ve changed since the breakup?”
Danielle chews and swallows. “Yeah, I do. After Ni-ki you actually moved on. You stopped sitting around waiting for whatever that was. Now you flirt back when guys like Maki show interest. It’s good. You seem so much more lighter.”
You nod and eat another fry. You continue chewing on food while talking about a new series she started watching. You finish eating, pay, and walk out together. By late afternoon you split up at the parking lot. She heads to her car for a study group and you walk the other way toward the row of ATMs on the street corner.
You stand in line behind an older woman counting her cash. Not so long after, a black car pulls up across the street. You could recognize this car model amongst every other one’s. You glance over and see Ni-ki leaning against the hood. A girl stands in front of him and they kiss. You can’t help but gaze back and forth two times, since their kiss was disgustingly agonizingly long. She pulls away to say something close to his ear, and walks off down the block, disappearing. He watches her go before he gets back in the car.
“Ew.” you mutter under your breath. Were our kisses that repulsing to watch?
The car starts and drives straight toward the ATM lane. It stops right behind where you stand. You keep your eyes on the machine ahead, trying to act like you weren’t hoping anticipating for his arrival. The woman finishes and leaves. Ni-ki gets out and stands next to you, so close that you can smell the trace of his signature cologne mingled with cigarette smoke. You’ve had so much memories attached to that scent that it made you slightly squint your eyebrows together.
He stands there and waits. “You saw that earlier?”
You really don’t want to look at him right now. Or you’d rather not see any trace of lipgloss on his lips. “Yes. It was disgusting.”
He lets out a short breath, a laugh disguised in a scoff. You step up to the ATM, punch in your code, and request twenty dollars. The whole time he stays there, hands in his jacket pockets, watching the screen.
“Jealous now?” he asks after a beat.
“No. I was just stating what I saw.”
While he stays still you turn slightly to see him planted beside the machine, eyes on you like he has more to say. It’s only you and him now.
You grab your twenty dollars and the receipt from the slot. Ni-ki steps closer, blocking the easy path back to the sidewalk.
“You don’t care anyway,” he says. “You’re probably flirting with a bunch of guys right now. That’s your thing these days.”
“Fuck off.” you tell him flat. You turn to walk away but he stays at the machine, inserts his card, and selects an amount. The machine whirs and starts dispensing a thick stack of bills that could choke a horse. You pause a few steps away and watch in curiosity.
“Are you planning on buying the whole block?” you ask sarcastically.
He counts the bills quickly and stuffs them into his wallet. “It’s for Maki’s party. We’re tight, so I’m handling the alcohol and the rest of the shit. Bottles don’t come cheap.”
You shake your head. He shuts the wallet and walks past you to his car. The door opens with a loud click. Before he gets in he looks back at you, mouth tilted in that unnerving half-smirk.
“See you at the party. Bring your guys. I’ll be there too.”
‘Bring your guys’ You couldn’t expect much from him. He slides into the driver seat, starts the engine, and pulls away. You stand there a moment longer, cash still in your hand, then head back toward your apartment.
───
On Saturday, you sit on the edge of your bed with your phone pressed to your ear. Maki’s voice comes through clear while you fold the white dress you bought. “That girl from my econ class is definitely showing up even though no one invited her,” he says. “And that dude Anderson? He’s bringing his speaker setup again. Last time it blew out halfway through the night.”
You laugh. “Tell him to keep the volume normal this time. I don’t want another noise complaint.”
The conversation bounces around. Maki updates you on the food he ordered and the playlist he’s making. When you compare him to Ni-ki, you’d obviously think that he was the right guy for you and that your ex wouldn’t stand a chance against him. Nonetheless, you can’t deny the fact that your heart always chases after a particular thing. A thing that maybe Maki doesn’t have that someone else do. After that, he pauses.
“You got a ride? My villa’s pretty far out and I can’t leave to pick you up. I’m stuck setting everything up here.”
You look at the clock. “I’ll figure something out.”
“Ni-ki’s coming from your side of town. It’s basically on his way. I’ll text him to grab you.”
You freeze for half a second. Maki has no clue about your history and that’s weird considering how close he is to Ni-ki. You think about the choices you might have. There’s no bus going that far, and cabs would cost too much.
“Alright,” you say. “Tell him.”
“Cool. He’s reliable for this stuff.”
You both keep talking for a bit and you check the time again and tell him you need to start getting ready.
“See you tonight. Don’t forget. White.” he says before you hang up.
You set the phone down, stand up, and pull the dress from the hanger. You lay it out on the bed and start with your hair. You finish getting ready and check your reflection one more time. Your phone lights up on the dresser. A text from Ni-ki.
Ni-ki [8:07 PM]
Outside in 10.
You read it, set the phone back down without typing anything back. A few minutes later you hear the low rumble of his car pulling up in front of your building. You grab your bag, lock the door, and head downstairs.
He waits by the passenger side, engine still running. You walk over and he opens the door for you out of habit. You slide in. He gets behind the wheel and pulls away from the curb before glancing over. “You don’t usually wear white.” he says.
“It was Maki’s idea. He wanted us to match.”
He makes a small sound in the back of his throat. “Cute. Matching outfits like some high school shit. Really original.”
You buckle your seatbelt and stare straight ahead. “It’s just a color. Drop it.”
He taps his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently. “Didn’t say it wasn’t. It’s just funny how you’re suddenly into whatever he suggests. Remember when I joked about bringing another girl around? You lost your shit for weeks.”
The words hit exactly where he meant them to. You remember that night clearly. He had laughed it off as a joke after you found out he actually did bring someone else to one of his gigs while you were still together. Always a joke with him, always something he could walk back. That was the top 1 of the reasons why you should’ve left you listed in your note apps before breaking up with him.
“That wasn’t a joke and you know it,” you say. “You cheated and acted like it was nothing.”
He changes lanes, eyes on the road. “We weren’t even exclusive by then. Or did you rewrite the timeline again?”
“We were.” you answer. “You just didn’t want to admit it when it got inconvenient.”
The car fills with silence for two blocks. He speaks again, voice low.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night. Now you’re playing dress-up for Maki.”
You turn your head toward the window. “At least he doesn’t hide behind ‘it was just a joke’ every time he fucks up.”
That was enough to shut him up.
The villa is still twenty minutes away and the road stretches out in front of you. You watch the passing streetlights without saying anything else. Ni-ki keeps his eyes on the road until the villa comes into view, lights already spilling out from the windows and music thumping low. He parks along the long driveway behind a line of other cars.
He cuts the engine. You unbuckle and open your door at the same time he does. He steps out first, pulls a cigarette from his pack, and lights it. The flame catches quick. As you stand up and close the door, he moves around the front of the car. His hand brushes your side and tugs the hem of your dress down toward your thighs quickly.
“Try not to do anything stupid tonight.” he says around the cigarette, voice so low you almost missed what he said. He takes a drag, exhales smoke to the side, and walks off toward the house without waiting.
You adjust the strap of your bag and head inside on your own. The living room is already filling up and you usually hated crowds. You try to sneak upon people and finally spot Danielle near the kitchen island talking to two other girls from your program. You walk over and join them.
“Y/N,” Danielle says, pulling you into a quick side hug. “You made it. The dress looks so good on you.”
One of the girls, Eunchae, smiles. “We were just talking about who’s already drunk. Anderson started shots twenty minutes ago.”
You smile and lean against the counter. “Sounds about right. Anyone see Maki yet?”
The talk picks up from there. You greet the others, exchange small talk about classes, letting the party noise settle around you.
You leave the group with Danielle and weave through the growing crowd toward the back patio where most of the main action is. Maki stands near the sliding doors talking to a couple of guys holding red cups. He spots you and breaks into a grin.
“I’m so freaking glad you came.” he says.
“Happy birthday again. In person this time.” You step closer and press a quick kiss to his cheek. He turns his head just enough that your lips catch the corner of his mouth for a second. His hand rests lightly on your waist.
“Thanks. You look good in white. That’s exactly what I pictured, even though you look good in any color.”
You pull back but stay close to keep the conversation easy. He introduces you to the guys he’s with, and you chat for a few minutes about the setup and the music. You can already smell the grilled meat from the barbecue and an overwhelming “party” scent. Maki gets pulled into another conversation, so you tell him you’ll catch him later and step away.
Your eyes scan the patio. In the far corner, past the pool lights, sits the designated smoking section. Ni-ki leans against the railing there with a couple of other guys. He’s switched to vaping now. The device glows faintly as he takes a long pull. You watch as he does a slow ghost inhale, holding the vapor in before letting it drift out slowly through his nose and mouth at the same time.
His gaze lifts and locks on you across the distance. His gaze remaining on yours forcefully. The corner of his mouth lifts into a tiny smirk right as the rest of the smoke leaves his lips in a controlled cloud. The light from the string bulbs catches the side of his sharp features. You feel it low in your stomach, that unwanted pull. It looks hot, you have to admit it. How he controls the vapor, and when he watches you while doing it, the smirk signaling he knows exactly what he’s doing.
You turn back toward the house before the moment stretches too long. Danielle waves you over to a new group forming near the drinks table. You join them and focus on the conversation, although the image of Ni-ki in the corner stays at the edge of your mind. The party noise rises around you as more people arrive. You take a cup someone offers and listen to the stories being swapped, forcing yourself to stay present.
You stand with Danielle and the others near the drinks table. Maki walks over a few minutes later carrying a bottle of something stronger. He pours shots for the group and hands you one.
“To another year of making bad decisions,” he says, clinking his cup against yours.
You drink it down and the burn hits quick. You talk about nothing important, laugh at old stories, and pour another round. Danielle refills her cup and gestures toward the patio. “At least Ni-ki’s not causing drama tonight. You two good now?”
Is she serious right now? Maki pauses mid-sip and looks between you and her.
“Wait. Ni-ki is your ex?”
You set your cup down. “Yeah. It was a while ago.”
He blinks once, processing. He looks thrown off rather than mad. “Huh. I didn’t know that. Small world, I guess.”
He finishes his drink and shrugs it off with a half-smile. “I’m gonna go check on people. I’ll be back.” He squeezes your shoulder once and walks off toward the other side of the house.
You shoot Danielle a look. She mouths “sorry” and changes the subject fast. The group keeps drinking, but you can feel the shift. After another ten minutes you excuse yourself and head toward the patio again to get some air.
Maki ends up near the smoking section. He spots Ni-ki leaning against the railing with his vape and walks over. “Hey man, thanks for coming,” Maki says. “And for picking up Y/N earlier.”
Ni-ki exhales a cloud of vapor and nods. “No problem.”
Maki chuckles. “I didn’t know you two had history. Exes, right?”
Ni-ki’s mouth curves. “Yeah. Ancient history. She still acts like I owe her something though.”
Maki laughs lightly. “She’s cool. We’ve been talking a lot lately.”
“That so?” Ni-ki takes another pull from the vape, does a French inhale, and blows the smoke out slow. “She’s not with me anymore. But she’s still my ex. You know how it is.”
The cockiness in his voice could be heard from a mile away. Maki raises an eyebrow, still joking. “Possessive much? She’s her own person last time I checked.”
Ni-ki smirks wider. “Tell yourself that. Just don’t come crying when she ghosts your ass for no reason. She’s good at that.”
They both laugh, a back and forth that stays surface level yet carries tension underneath. Maki claps him on the shoulder once and moves on to talk to someone else. Ni-ki stays where he is, eyes scanning the party again.
You head back inside after the conversation dies down. The party has picked up. Music thumps louder through the speakers and people crowd onto the cleared dance floor in the main room. Danielle pulls you into the group with a few other girls. You move with them, bodies shifting to the beat, hands in the air for the chorus.
Maki finds his way over after a couple of songs. You dance facing him, then turn and press back against him for a few beats, grinding lightly against him. His hands rest on your hips. The alcohol makes everything feel loose. You stay like that for another track before you peel off and tell the girls you need air.
You step out onto the patio again. The night feels cooler now. Fewer people linger outside. Ni-ki still sits on the wide railing in the smoking corner, vape in one hand, a half-empty cup in the other. Two guys talk to him but soon head back inside, leaving him mostly alone.
You walk closer and stop a few feet away. “You’re still smoking that thing. You really can’t go one night without it?”
He looks up, takes a pull, and exhales. “It keeps me from doing worse shit. What about you? Grinding on the birthday boy like that. That’s new.”
You roll your eyes and lean against the railing nearby. The alcohol turns noticeably in your stomach. You breathe deeper, trying to clear your head, eyes focused on the dark yard beyond the lights. Ni-ki notices your light unsteadiness. He stands up and moves beside you, closer than he ever was in your life.
He lifts the vape to his mouth, inhales, and blows a thick cloud of smoke from the corner of his lips so it drifts past your face. His free hand drops to the hem of your dress again and tugs it down from your ass to your thighs with a firm pull.
“Come with me,” he says. “Let’s get you some water before you puke on Maki’s shoes.”
The dizziness lingers. He starts walking toward the side door that leads to the kitchen and you follow him. Most people are still on the dance floor so they’re not going to pay attention if something happens. You lean against the counter near the sink, with your head a little fuzzy from the shots. Ni-ki opens the fridge to grab a cold bottle of water, and hands it to you without a word.
You twist the cap off and take a long drink. He stops vaping, sets the device on the island, and leans back against it directly in front of you. His arms rest on the edge of the counter behind him.
“You’re being nice tonight,” he says. “Even drunk. Not like the old days when you’d tell me to fuck off for less.”
You lower the bottle and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Don’t start acting like you know me. You lost that right a long time ago.”
He watches you take another sip. You set the bottle down with force. “Mind your own business.” you tell him. “Stop trying to ruin my love life every time I talk to someone else.”
Ni-ki pushes off the island and steps forward. He places one hand on the counter beside your hip, the other on the other side, bracketing you in. Without touching you, the space between you shrinks. You can smell the scent of his vape and the subtle alcohol on his breath. He’s not drunk, but neither does he seems sober.
“I don’t give a shit if you choose Maki,” he declares lowly. “I don’t even want you back like that. We both know that. I just don’t like that you’re not mine anymore.”
You stay pressed against the counter, looking up at him. “Then why the fuck can you kiss other girls whenever you want,” you say, “and I don’t have the right to do anything? You get to move on but I can’t even dance with someone without you pulling this shit?”
His eyes stay on yours without moving an inch.
“Because I don’t pretend it’s something bigger,” he answers. “I kiss who I want and it ends there. You start something and suddenly it’s this whole production with matching outfits and rides and everyone knowing your business. It pisses me off that you’re out here acting like you’re free when you used to be mine. That’s all.”
You push against his chest lightly with one hand. He gives an inch but stays close.
“What the fuck am I to you? An object? You don’t own me,” you tell him. “We broke up. Get over it.”
He lets out a short laugh. “I am over it. That doesn’t mean I have to like watching it. Especially not with Maki acting like he’s got a chance at something real.”
Music pulses from the other rooms and it feels distant. He waits for your next words, hands still planted on the counter.
You push past him and walk out of the kitchen. The alcohol still clouds your steps as you head toward the stairs. You start climbing without looking back.
“Stop,” Ni-ki calls after you. “You’re gonna trip like that.”
You ignore him and keep going. Your dress rides up a little with each step, bunching higher on your thighs. A couple of guys standing at the bottom of the stairs turn their heads, eyes dropping to your ass.
“Eyes up, assholes.” Ni-ki snaps at them as he moves quickly behind you.
He follows close on your heels the rest of the way up, his body blocking the view from below. You reach the second floor hallway and stop near an open window for air. He stops right behind you, you feel the heat from him.
You push away from the windowsill, head spinning more than before. The dizziness hits harder. You walk down the hall and open the nearest bedroom door. It’s empty with just a big bed and some jackets thrown over a chair. You go straight to the bed and lie down on your back, eyes closed.
Ni-ki follows you in. “Slow down. You’re drunk.”
“Fuck you.” you mutter, arm over your eyes. “Always acting like you can tell me what to do or like you still have a say. Go find another girl to kiss and leave me alone.”
You hear his footsteps cross the room. The door clicks shut behind him, closing out most of the party noise. He stays near the door for a moment, and then he moves closer to the bed.
“I’m not leaving you up here like this,” he says. “You’ll feel worse if you pass out alone. Drink more water when you can sit up.”
You keep your eyes covered, the room tilting even while lying down. “I hate how you do this. You show up and act like you care only when it suits you.”
He pulls the chair closer to the bed and sits.
You stay on the bed, arm still draped over your eyes. The dizziness refuses to calm down. Ni-ki shifts in the chair beside you. “I know I’m an asshole,” he says after a long pause. “But Maki’s too drunk to take care of you properly. He’s downstairs doing shots and barely standing straight. You think he’s coming up here to hold your hair if you throw up?”
You move your arm and look at him. The room lights feel too bright. “And you think you’re any better? You followed me up here like I need a babysitter.”
He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Someone has to. You drank too much and came upstairs alone. I’m not trying to fuck with you right now. So stay here until it passes a bit.”
You try to move your head on the pillow. The bed feels still under you compared to the floor earlier. Ni-ki gets up from the chair. The mattress dips as he sits down on the edge next to you. His hand lands on the mattress right behind your head, his fingers brushing the pillow.
“You need anything?” he asks. “More water? Something to eat?”
“Fuck off,” you say without opening your eyes. “I don’t want anything from you.”
“Come on. Stop being stubborn.”
“Fuck you, Ni-ki. Seriously. Go downstairs and vape or kiss whoever the hell you want. Leave me the fuck alone.”
You turn your face further into the pillow. He stays seated there, hand still planted behind your head on the bed.
“Do you love Maki?” he asks suddenly.
Why would he ask that all of a sudden? When you try to consider it, you don’t love Maki. You really don’t. Love is a strong word to describe what you’re feeling for him. And when you think about it, you don’t even have a definition for love, since the ‘real’ love you’ve ever experienced was absolutely fucked and toxic. You remain silent and let the question float, unanswered.
He leans in a bit closer. “Have you ever kissed him?”
“Yes,” you confess. “Once on the mouth. And please, it’s really none of your business.”
After your declaration, he softly abruptly kisses you. And weirdly enough, you can’t push him away. The shape of his lips, the curve of his mouth, they all are familiar to you. You’ve kissed him a hundred times and only God knows why it always feels surreal when you do. You stay still under it for a few seconds. When he finally pulls back you wipe your lips with the back of your hand. He laughs low and kisses you again right away. You try to turn your head but he follows, kissing you so you can’t wipe anything off. You manage to get your hand between you for a moment.
“Stop.” you mutter against his mouth. “What the fuck are you doing?”
He kisses you once more, quick and sure. “You told me to go kiss a girl. I’m listening to you.”
You push at his shoulder, a tentative move to use your strength that isn’t even there because of the alcohol. “That’s not what I meant. Can you stop being such an asshole?”
He laughs again, close to you. “You said it. Now you’re mad when I do it. Make up your mind.”
You wipe your mouth again and he’s automatically already leaning in. “This doesn’t change anything.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I aware of that.” He kisses you anyway and you let him once again. You bicker between kisses, words half-formed and cut off. He keeps the pace just fast enough that you can’t keep wiping your lips clean. Your thoughts spin slower by now, caught between telling him to leave and not wanting him to. You can’t decide.
Ni-ki shifts and towers over you on the bed, one knee beside your leg. Your hands find his shoulders and stay there to anchor yourself. The making out gets more heated, mouths open, breaths mixing, just like the good old days. His hand slides down to the side of your hip. He grips it and whispers against your lips, “I can finally slide this dress up.”
If anything scandalous could possibly happen, you can’t allow that to be known by anyone. Not Maki nor Danielle. And knowing how Ni-ki could just spill that in Maki’s face just to fuck with him. It couldn’t be worse than what this is. You pull back to speak, your face a few inches away from his. “If we do anything right now, you forget it tomorrow. You shut your damn mouth.”
He nods once. “Agreed.”
You tilt your head back as he moves to your neck. “Maki’s downstairs waiting for me.”
He makes an irritated sound low in his throat. “Don’t bring him up while I’m doing this.” He kisses your neck harder and sucks stingily on the skin. You feel the pull as he leaves a noticeable hickey. He moves lower, mouth working along your collarbone, leaving more marks. One after another.
You breathe through it, fingers in his hair. He shifts to the other side of your neck and does the same, sucking until the skin blooms under his mouth. Your thoughts keep circling back to how bad an idea this is, but you don’t want to can’t stop him. He covers your neck and collarbones, alternating between kisses and harder pulls that you know will show tomorrow.
“Fuck,” you mutter when he hits a sensitive spot. He keeps going, hand still firm on your hip under the bunched fabric of the dress. The party noise stays far away and for now the room holds only this.
You feel his hand move under the dress. He slides your panties down your legs easily and tosses them aside. His fingers return between your thighs and caress your folds, slow and patient, waiting for you to get wet.
You find it funny, this power you still have over him, and how easily he would react to a mention on the guys you’re talking to. You smile against his mouth and start talking. “Maki kissed me better last time. His hands didn’t shake like yours do when you’re trying to act cool.”
Ni-ki’s fingers keep moving, teasing your entrance but not pushing in yet. “Stop.”
You ignore him and keep going. “He texts me every day. He says he misses me when I don’t reply. You never did that.”
“Y/N, what are you doing?” he says again, voice tighter. His fingers circle your clit once, then back to your folds, spreading the wetness that starts to build.
You chuckle low. “You’re so easy to annoy. Look at you. Already hard and I haven’t even touched you back.”
He leans down closer, mouth near your ear while his hand works between your legs. “And would you look at yourself? Such a needy little slut, getting wet for your ex while your new boy is downstairs waiting. Can’t even stay loyal for one night, don’t you?”
You breathe sharper at his words, body reacting even as your mind pushes back. His fingers stay teasing, patient, drawing it out. You shift your hips but he doesn’t speed up. The marks on your neck throb in time with your pulse, as he sucked on your skin like a vampire. You know you should tell him to stop but the words don’t come out of your mouth. Anyone who would even just see their ex from afar would run away or ignore them. And mostly after them cheating on you and being an asshole. You feel dumb right now. You let him keep touching you, the mingle of annoyance and heat keeping you there under him.
You feel his hands on your waist. He lifts you without much effort and shifts you onto his lap so you straddle him. Your dress bunches up around your hips. He unbuckles his jeans, pushes them down and leaves his boxers on for a minute, and pulls you closer. He grinds up against you, his hard cock sliding along your wetness through the thin fabric.
You reach down between you and wrap your hand around him. You stroke slowly, spreading the precum from the tip down his length. He exhales sharply, like when he exhales smoke. You position yourself and sink down onto him, taking him in inch by inch until you sit fully on his dick.
“I fucking hate you.” you whisper.
He grips your hips tighter. You start to move, slow at first. The feeling of him inside you brings back too many memories. You rock your hips, hands on his shoulders for balance. He meets your movements from below, thrusting up into you.
“You say that but you’re soaking my cock right now,” he mutters.
Even like this, he finds a way to talk back. You keep riding him, the heat raising in the room. Your thighs press against his sides which makes the bed creaks quietly under you both. You hate how right it feels in the moment, how your body responds to him without hesitation, because you’ll always have this weird connection together. He fills you completely and you let yourself chase that feeling, even while the words “I hate you” echo in your head.
You keep moving on him, hips rolling steadily. Ni-ki’s hands slide down to your ass. He fondles it, squeezing the flesh as you ride him.
“That’s it,” he says, voice low and condescending. “You’re taking my cock so well. Such a good little slut for your ex even after all that talking shit.”
He slaps your ass once, the sound sharp below the muffled music. The sting mixes with the pleasure as you clench around him involuntarily. He does it again on the other cheek, harder this time, then rubs the spot right after.
“Fuck, you feel so tight,” he continues, fondling and kneading your cheeks while you move. “Maki doesn’t know how to handle you like this, does he? But here you are, bouncing on me like you never left.”
You bite your lip to hold back a moan. His words irritate you but they also push you closer. He slaps your ass a third time, grips both cheeks and pulls you down harder onto him with each thrust. His hands stay on your ass, fondling, slapping, controlling the pace as you ride him. Your thoughts scatter between the anger and the building heat and you don’t if anything feels right. You hate how much you like his hands on you right now, the way he praises you like he owns the moment. You keep going anyway, letting the cadence take over.
You press down harder, sitting fully on him and stirring your hips in tight circles so his dick moves deep inside you. Ni-ki groans and grips your ass tighter, hips jerking up. You feel him throbbing, right on the edge.
You lift off him suddenly, his cock slipping out wet and You press down harder, sitting fully on him and stirring your hips in tight circles so his dick moves deep inside you. Ni-ki groans and grips your ass tighter, hips jerking up. You feel him throbbing, right on the edge.
You lift off him suddenly, his cock slipping out wet and hard. You grab your panties from the floor and pull them back on quick. He stares at you, breathing heavy.
“What the fuck?” he says.
You smooth your dress down over your hips. “We said forget it tomorrow. I’m done.”
A knock sounds on the door. Maki’s voice comes through. “Y/N? You in there?”
You glance at Ni-ki once before walking to the door. Your legs feel unsteady but you keep moving. The hickeys on your neck burn under the fabric. You open the door just enough to slip out, leaving Ni-ki on the bed behind you. Maki stands in the hallway, looking concerned.
“Hey, I was looking for you,” he says. “You okay?”
You nod and close the door behind you. “Yeah. I needed to lie down for a bit. Let’s go back downstairs.”
Your mind races as you walk with him, getting occasional stares from him on your neck and collarbones. The wetness between your legs a reminder of what just happened. But everything will be forgotten the day after, right?
𑣲⋆ ⌗ (🚬) You’re the kind of girl who gets peonies for breakfast, so Riki Nishimura would really like to know why you’re buying weed from him.
西村 力 riki nishimura x cheer captain! reader
˗ˏˋ riki as a plug, i promise its not as bad as it sounds, romcom, fluff, crack, profanity, homewrecking but not really, cheating (not really) but not on riki dw, explicit content, smut, oral sex, m receiving, porn with plot, unprotected sex, dom ni-ki, size kink lowk, weed, toxic, mdni !
wc: 20 766
p: d.a.m. - fetty wap ; homewrecker - sombr ; i get lonely - drake ; lowkey - niki (fcking hilarious)
Riki Nishimura was a conformist by all means possible, and even prides himself as a law-abiding citizen to the normalized standards.
He does think some fractions of the government system can totally be tweaked, but he isn’t some reformist that would go out of his way — he actually really likes the stability of society and how it’s structured. He’s comfortable with the status quo.
That includes knowing who to follow on Instagram, who not to approach in the hallway, who to invite in group projects, and who to sit with in lunch. He goes by what makes sense and knows who the hell doesn’t belong in his circle, who rightfully has his phone number, and who can comment on his Instagram posts.
Except when it comes to substances. He’s not a drug addict but he does enjoy good weed.
He did listen during chemistry lectures, which basically means he knows a thing or two about pharmaceutics — at least the important parts like which produce larger surges of dopamine and intense euphoria. So while they get drug orientations every start of the school year and the addition of the entrepreneurial mindset of a businessman his father has passed down to him; Riki’s a fucking a jackpot. He simply believed every structure had blind spots, and if someone was smart enough to notice them, then maybe they deserved to profit a little.
Maybe that made him a hypocrite. He knew that. Sometimes, in the middle of his own judgment, the thought would occur to him that he was not exactly living inside the moral boundaries he pretended to respect.
So with all of these in mind — weed-seller and social scale follower — imagine his surprise seeing a text from you.
You, an A-tier cheer captain with perfect grades and perfect friends and a perfect boyfriend and someone he doubts even has ever touched weed within a 10 feet radius because of how goody-two-shoes and slightly more socially-conformed you are, texted him:
you:
hi
you sell right
The kind of surprise a priest might feel if the Virgin Mary asked to borrow a dildo.
Riki stared at his phone for a full thirty seconds. Not because he was shocked by the question itself — he’d gotten worse, far more incriminating messages from people with nothing to lose – but because of who it was from. Your name sat there, attached to a profile picture he never thought would sit on his chat log. Someone who followed the rules so well she barely seemed to touch the ground and practically flew up the school field with the school banner.
This was not how the structure worked. Nope.
He knew you didn’t look at people like him unless it was to borrow a pen or unwillingly get assigned to a lab partner. You definitely weren’t supposed to be asking him this.
Riki leaned back in his chair and rethought the logistics. He wasn’t paranoid – paranoia implied irrationality. This was risk assessment, you’re high visibility, you’re a liability, you’re a cop in disguise, you’re a prig who’ll ruin his cloak and dagger, you’re holier-than-thou. You’re interesting.
riki:
????
is this a test loll
you:
?
its a question
riki:
u fr????
you:
js tell me if its a no
i have money
riki:
3pm behind the science building
you:
ok thanks
But more than whatever you are, he knows this was stupid. This was the kind of deviation that got people caught and into the most flouting position he’ll ever be, therefore ruining his very wish to stay within a lawful system. It was, unequivocally, a very bad idea.
And yet he finds himself at the back of the building while he reevaluates the measures of bad-ness in the idea. If math really has been on his side along with his really athletic stature, he can run when you pull out as witness to his little dissenter mood. It halts when he sees you rounding the corner in your cheer uniform — ponytail perfect, knee tape slightly crooked, eyes darting like you weren’t sure you belonged back here — he realizes something his knees will give out before he can even try to walk away.
You stop a few feet away from him, awkward, out of place, glowing like a wrong answer circled in red. You stare at him with your arms crossed, hyperaware when his eyes follow the silhouette of your frame like he’s finding a covert surveillance device underneath your pleated skirt.
Riki talks calmly, like this wasn’t insane at all, like he hasn’t been in his head for the past hours: “So,” he starts, hands slipping into the pockets of his hoodie. “What do you need?”
The question should’ve been easy. You’d rehearsed it in your head on the walk here, timed it with your steps, told yourself not to sound like an idiot. But standing this near — near enough to notice the faint, clean smell of cologne and something green and earthy — you blank.
You shift your weight, arms tightening across your chest. “Um. Weed.”
Riki blinks once, and immediately he knows what this is. He studies you the way he did with lab results that didn’t line up with the predictions — or maybe it did exactly, and he can’t believe it was that easy.
“…Okay,” he said. “What kind?”
Your mouth opens. Then closes.
“What kind.” he repeats.
You felt heat crawl up your neck. “Just… normal?” you say, immediately hating yourself. “Like. The kind people use?”
A corner of his mouth twitches before he can stop it. Then he licks the inside of his cheek, shaking his head when he realizes that yeah, his guess is right. “You don’t know what you’re doing.” he says.
You bristle. “So?”
“You don’t even know dosage. Or strain. Or why you want it.” His eyes flick up to yours. “Do you?”
Your confidence wobbles, the polished composure you wore so easily in hallways cracking just a little now. He pulls out a small, neatly labeled bag and holds it between his fingers instead of handing it to you. “This is low THC,” he explains. “Won’t make you freak out. But I need to know what you specifically need so you don’t… panic.”
This was supposed to be transactional, quick, something you could tuck away and forget about. Yet every risky glance you take, he doesn’t look like someone who’d hold anything against you.
Riki sighs, about to put the bag away. “Look, let’s just forget —“
“I just,” you start, then sigh because there’s no cool way to say it. “I don’t know. I had a bad week. I wanted to try something.”
When you finally look up, he’s watching you differently. Not like you’re stupid or embarrassing, though you feel plenty of that on your own. His brows have lifted slightly, the faint amusement in his mouth fading into something quieter as he takes you in properly: your tight grip on your own arms, the way your eyes keep darting away.
And it makes it worse.
You meet his eyes for half a second before looking away with a small huff, embarrassed by the sudden attention.
He puckers his lips slightly, staring at the thing in his hand like he’s thinking. At first, you think he might be deciding if you’re worth the trouble, but then he nods once. “Okay,” he says. “So you’re not becoming a stoner. You’re just trying a new cuisine.”
You blink at him, then laugh under your breath before you can stop yourself.
His mouth twitches, but hides it. He steps closer, just enough that you can see the smoothness of his skin, like he owns expensive skincare. He’s very tall, in a way that surprises you maybe because you’d just never stood this close before.
Really, you never spent time looking at Riki Nishimura. You’ve known the name, because who can ever look past the opulent sound of it, but to know the man behind it didn’t matter. After texting him, you don’t know what you expected either, maybe someone grubbier and smelled like smoke, someone with dry lips from all the ash. You thought he’d smell like one of those hippie guys who sold sketchy shit while wearing the same beanie for three years.
But no, he smells like a familiar perfume your father owns in his fragrance wardrobe.
And his clothes are annoyingly nice, like the hoodie is probably more expensive than it looks and the loose pants are intentional, not lazy.
Also, he’s 6’1.
“This,” he taps the bag lightly, “will help you relax. Body high, mostly. You’ll still be functional. But since it’s your first time, better not fuck around too much.”
He’s still standing in front of you, close enough for you to notice the way his lashes lower when he looks at the bag in his hand, and you feel deeply, horribly stupid for only realizing now that he looks like that.
Your gaze lingers, and he catches it. Riki clears his throat, spine straightening a little. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” you say too fast.
He only hums. You tighten your arms across your chest. “Just give me the thing.”
He finally hands you the bag, and you eye it once you feel its weight in your palm; leafy and green and brown and not you — but it doesn’t look so bad right now. It looks enticing, even, which you won’t try to admit out loud.
“Twenty,” he says, not planning to converse himself with the sudden discount.
You dig into your bag, finding for the vintage pink wallet that screams the contrast of cannabis in your palm right now. “You know,” you say, hesitant but honest, “I don’t know. It’s weird how we’ve never talked before.”
That gets him. He chuckles even if there’s nothing funny about what you said, but there is something humorous about the fact he remembers shit you obviously forgot. He’s quick to question the lack of indifference, because he remembers it well that this is definitely not the first time you two talked.
“We were partners in freshman year,” Riki says.
He watches your face blank in real time, and something about it makes his mouth lift again, but not kindly enough to be mean. More like he expected it and still finds it a little funny that you are proving him right.
“English lit,” he adds. “The mythology presentation.”
For a second, he looks at you like someone who’s always known you, and you look at him like you’re seeing him for the first time. He sees it flash in your eyes, that maybe you remember him more than just some guy who sells weed to irresponsible decision-makers.
“Oh,” you say.
Riki nods once, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Oh.”
Until your phone buzzes to drag you back from this little bubble you’re in – your boyfriend’s name lights up the screen and Riki notices it too.
“Oh,” you say again, clearly out of your own head. “I — sorry.”
Something shifts, like the structure rebuilds and reasserts itself back into proper footing. You pull the bills from your wallet and press them into his hand. “Thanks,” you say. “For, um. The stuff.”
He closes his fist around the money, nods once. “Yeah.”
You hesitate like you might say something else, so you just tuck the bag away and step back. “I’ll go,” you say.
You turn the corner first. Riki exhales only when you’re out of sight, and chews on his bottom lip before hitting the side of his fist against the wall without real effort. He turns the other corner, parting from the rendezvous kept between eng lit and discounts.
The thing is, Riki knows you before whatever you are now. Miss Perfect who buys weed from Mister Lowkey Weed Seller — it’s a whole tangle in his brain in which he can’t exactly comprehend, but while he smokes a joint and music blasts through the speakers from the house party he’s dragged into, your picture’s pinned with red strings.
He’s known you since third grade. You’ve been part of the cheer team before puberty, and since then you’ve accumulated likable girls your age into your circle, then the guys from the football team after. It becomes a whole coupling session when the age came right, which Riki is convinced is just some orgy labeled friendship goals in curated Instagram. He thought you were mean mostly because that’s what someone like you would be — but he does know a thing or two about you, other than the assumption of character. You’ve been in the same group projects against your will, sometimes you’d stand next to each other by the queue lines in the cafeteria, sometimes you’d bump against him in the hallway when you’re chasing time.
Is it weird he kept tabs? Maybe.
He always noticed, obviously, why wouldn’t he? You are not exactly unnoticeable. You’re nicer than your friends, you say sorry when you accidentally bump into someone, you say thanks to the staff, you say good morning to strangers, you’re pretty, you’re talented, you’re smart, you laugh at his jokes, you bought weed from him, you’re pretty, you’re perfect, you’re funny, you’re ridiculously pretty —
Riki takes another puff, too fast and too harsh, earning a rough cough from his throat. Heeseung chuckles, giving him an aggressive pat on the back when he leans his elbows against his knees. “Geez, first time?”
Riki shoves his arm away with a laugh, unsure where this is coming from. Because on top of every other noticeable trait you have, you have a boyfriend. So. Yeah. He knows better than to think about you.
He sinks deeper into someone else’s couch — leather, cracked at the seams — while the bass rattles the walls and bodies blur together in the dim lights. Smoke hangs thick in the air, clinging to his clothes, his hair, his thoughts. He takes another drag, slower this time, lets it sit in his lungs until the noise dulls around the edges.
Across from him, someone’s laughing too loud, then a couple is making out like it’s an Olympic sport. Heeseung steals the joint from his fingers and flicks the ash into an empty cup.
“You look fucked,” Heeseung says.
“I’m not,” Riki replies automatically.
“Mhm.”
Riki pushes himself up from the couch, suddenly restless. He just wants a drink — something cold, something that doesn’t make his head spiral because even the thought of weed pulls him back to this cheerleader. So he goes to the kitchen, instinctively saying half-assed sorry’s to strangers without meaning them.
Until he bumps into someone.
For half a second, he genuinely wonders if the side effects are finally catching up to him, because his head feels several feet away from his eyes and the kitchen lights look more hazy than they should.
But it’s you, he knows that because your kind voice apologizes; the way you always do, the way your friends don’t. Your shoulder knocks into his chest and you’re already stepping back, eyes wide a fraction of a second when you look up. Riki freezes too, unsure what to do with his hands or his feet or where to look without threading too close to the sternum your lowcut top exposes. Up close, under dim kitchen lights instead of school hallways, you look unreal — hair loose, lips parted like you’ve been laughing.
“Riki,” you say, breathless, like his name slipped out before your brain could catch it.
His name on your mouth does something stupid to him.
“Hey,” he says, too softly. He’s just thankful you don’t notice the slight roughness of it.
You smile, small and polite — but there’s something else underneath it now. Recognition that shouldn’t exist, not in the structure where you’re meant to forget that you know; one where he looks up at you from beneath your echelon, now he’s standing close enough that you have to tilt your chin to look up at him.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” you say.
He huffs a quiet laugh. “I didn’t either.”
You glance past him, toward the other room, toward where your friends probably are — or your boyfriend. Then back at him, polite in a way he’s sure is because you’re you and not because he’s him.
“I don’t usually see you in… parties,” you say.
He puts both hands in his pant pockets, shoulders loose, eyes on yours like the noise around you doesn’t have enough authority to interrupt.
“You don’t usually look,” he says.
It’s not said rudely, just calm, like he’s stating something obvious enough that both of you should stop pretending around it.
Your fingers tighten around your cup. “That’s not true.”
Riki tilts his head, eyes moving over your face. “Yeah?”
You hate how it sounds coming from him, low and slow and almost amused, like he knows you’re lying before you do. You scoff a quiet laugh, eyes looking away because you can’t keep looking at him.
“I mean, I know you exist.” You look back up at him when you say it, bottom lip catching between your teeth before you can stop yourself.
His eyes drop for half a second, then he smirks and looks away, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek like he’s trying not to say something.
When he looks back, his face is calmer. “Where’s your boyfriend?”
The question is casual enough that it almost sounds harmless. You glance elsewhere instinctively, like you’re going to find him close. “Somewhere.”
“Specific.”
“He’s with his friends.”
Riki just nods, doesn’t wanna push, even though he’s pretty sure you don’t actually know where he is. Leaving is the smarter and normal thing to do. The thing a girl with a boyfriend and a reputation and a phone full of unread messages from her friends would do.
Instead, you stay there. And Riki’s got that tabbed already.
You hesitate, fingers worrying at the rim of your cup. “I, um. I haven’t — used it yet.”
Riki blinks. “The stuff?”
You nod, cheeks warming. “I just… don’t really know how.” It’s weird being this honest with someone you barely know, yet your bones don’t buzz with the prompt demand to pause. It must be the slight slosh, it’s the only real thing to excuse why you’re not pulling away.
For a second, he just looks at you. Then his mouth curves, slow and amused. “You bought weed without knowing how to use it?”
Your face warms, but you try not to look embarrassed. “Okay, well.” You lift your cup a little, like that somehow helps your argument. “You can teach me.”
Riki grimaces immediately, playful but clear. “Sounds like a bad idea.”
You blink. “Wow. Rude." You huff, looking away, but you’re smiling a little because he doesn’t sound scared of you. Or impressed by you. Or desperate to keep you there. He just sounds like he already knows better and hates that he has to be the one saying it.
He sighs, looking away for a second. “Fuck, fine.” his jaw clenches. “But not here.”
You try not to smile and fail almost immediately. You take one step back, still looking at him. “I’ll text you. Maybe later?”
Someone calls your name from the other room and you exhale, dragging back through the fracture. The music spikes and someone bumps into you again, closer this time, and Riki’s hand lifts instinctively, hovering over your waist without touching.
Your eyes flick down, then back up to his. “Nice seeing you,” you say finally, voice softer now.
“Yeah,” he says. “You too.”
You step around him, brushing past just close enough that he catches your scent — which is bad, because now he’ll have to remember that too. When you disappear back into the crowd, Riki stays rooted in place for a beat too long.
He exhales, rubs a hand over his face, and laughs quietly to himself.
He really, really knows better.
Which somehow makes it worse.
Riki glances back to see you’re sitting on the couch now, legs tucked in, your boyfriend’s arm slung easily around your shoulders. He leans in and presses a quick kiss to your cheek, which makes you smile and ease back into him. Riki turns away to open the fridge and grabs the coldest beer he can find. He lifts it and downs it in one go, throat burning at the coldness and bitter taste.
He shouldn’t do this.
He really shouldn’t.
Later, in that strange lull when the party has gotten worse and louder — you text him.
You:
bathroom upstairs
The bathroom is cramped and clean but gross in concept: flickering light, foggy mirror, the smell of cheap air freshener. You’re perched on the edge of the sink when he slips inside and locks the door behind him, eyes bright, a little nervous, because being in a bathroom with you feels worse than any sketchy deal he’s made.
“Okay,” you whisper, like you’re conspiring. “So. Teach me.”
He winces, glancing around. “This is… not ideal.”
You just grin. He laughs despite himself and sets the weed down on the closed toilet lid, grimacing when he starts rolling paper against it. Once he’s done, he holds the roll up to your mouth and he tells you to lick it. You follow through, leaning down and sticking your tongue out to lick the side. He clears his throat, trying not to think about the way you looked doing that, trying not to imagine anything else.
He’s careful, not clinical or a lecture when he instructs, just calm and reassuring like he’s trying to keep you comfortable more than correct. When he hands the final roll to you, your fingers shake a little as you take it.
“Like this?” you ask.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Slow.”
You cough immediately after trying, sharp and sudden, bending forward with a surprised laugh. “Oh my god — why does it — ”
“Hey,” he says, too fast, stepping closer, hand hovering at your back. “You okay?”
You wave him off, still laughing, eyes watering. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”
He watches you like you might disappear if he looks away. You’re laughing, which isn’t comforting Riki even in the slightest because the last thing he needs is to not be a conformist and end up in jail for accidentally supporting your homicide.
You try again, better this time. You still cough, laugh, cough again, but way more manageable as time goes by.
“Sorry,” you say, breathless.
“Don’t apologize,” he says. “You’re doing fine.”
You keep at it, stubborn in that way of yours, until the coughing eases and something in your shoulders loosens. You lean back against the wall, head tipping gently, eyes half-lidded.
“Oh,” you murmur. “That’s… actually really nice.”
Riki lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a nervous laugh slipping out. He leans back against the wall, hand through his bangs, exposing the skin of his forehead. “Jesus fucking Christ,”
You nod slowly, smiling to yourself. “My brain’s quiet.”
He watches you for a moment: relaxed, unguarded, glowing in this tiny bathroom because you don’t belong here at all, holding a joint Riki himself rolled for you. Really, you never belonged anywhere that tried to put you in a box, and he wasn’t going to make himself an exception to that opening.
He tries thinking about who you really are, beyond what most people would take you as. Though he knows not to fantasize a tale where he saves the damsel from her golden label. He takes you with memory and not assumption: cheer girl, disciplined afternoon drills, academically smart, socially competent, good. But tonight, while you lean against the cracked sink and stand diagonally across him, he sees a side he never thought he’d secretly behold.
Your eyes flick to him. “You’re a good teacher.”
He swallows. “You’re an easy student.”
Riki rolls another one for himself, hands steadier now that you’re settled, and lights it with a quiet flick. The bathroom fills with a softer haze this time, the kind that wraps instead of hits like a downer high school series. He takes a drag, exhales toward the ceiling, letting the room reek with shouldn’ts and endorphine boosters.
You smoke more confidently now, less harsh and rough when you let the smoke run down your throat. Your eyes are a little red, lashes heavier, the sharp edges of you blurred into something warmer and looser, less polished and picture perfect the way your boyfriend would like. Riki thinks — stupidly — that he’s never seen you look better.
You lean your head back against the wall again, staring at the ceiling like it’s just told you a secret. He doesn’t stare, actually. He keeps his eyes narrowed to the broken tile in front of him like he’ll discern the reason it’s cracked (maybe someone opened the door too hard, maybe someone once stood there trying to look normal while his heart acted stupid over a girl, which was especially humiliating when the whole point of being high was to feel less insane). Sometimes he’ll permit himself to glance, but even the very glimpse of your smudged lipstick makes him look away and inhale the fuck outta that weed.
Then, suddenly, with eyes still trained to the dim bathroom light — “I thought you were,” you start, then laugh, a little too loud before clapping a hand over your mouth. “Sorry. I thought you were, like… this weirdo.”
He snorts, shaking his head. “Wow. Honesty hour already?”
“No — ” you groan, waving the joint like you’re conducting an orchestra. “I mean it nicely. You always stayed away from everyone. I figured you were judging us.”
“Us?” he repeats, amused, cocking a brow when he glances at you.
“You know. People like me.” You squint at him, trying to focus. You gesture at yourself ineptly, clearly out of the ordinary intellectual capacity you clench tight, not when rickety makes up for your feet.
He quickly looks away, trying not to smile.
“Loud. Annoying.” you clarify, hand gesturing around.
He tilts his head, considering. “Was I supposed to be friends with people like you?”
You blink, like you’re thinking about what he said and calculating the rationale behind his causes. It was a hit, one that steadies a thought in your brain.
“Is that so bad?”
The question knocks the breath out of him, especially when you look up at him like that, eyes bright and wide. He blinks, and then he laughs, coming out quieter this time, looking away because he can’t keep eye contact with you. “I didn’t think you’d want that.”
“Why not?”
Because there’s a system. Because there’s levels to this shit. Because you have a boyfriend. Because you’re untouchable. Because you’re perfect and he’s whatever this was. Because people like him didn’t get pulled into your orbit unless it was transactional. Like weed exchanges and favors on the toilet.
For now, he shrugs. “Seemed like you already had your people.”
You hum, nodding slowly, then smile. You tap the joint, watching some ash fall to the tiles. “They’re loud.”
He smiles back despite himself. “Yeah. They are.”
The bathroom feels like it’s floating away from the music that pumps loud through the pipes, a constant reminder that there’s more than the stinky bathroom you two share as a secret. It’s risky because it’s merely wood that separates the crypticity of Mary Jane from the Average Joe you two function in individually.
You glance at the joint, then at him. “You’re not weird, by the way.”
“Oh?” he says, eyebrow lifting. He even scoffs, because he (un-admittedly) finds you adorable.
“You’re just… quiet. You keep to yourself, but that doesn’t make you… eccentric.” You grin lopsided, cheeks warm but you ignore that. “You’re nice.”
That one gets him, more than he’d ever admit to anyone. Riki looks over, and for half a second, his gaze slips lower before he forces it back to your face. You’re already looking at him, all soft eyes and honest mouth, like you have no idea what you’re doing to him.
He looks away first, rubbing the side of his jaw like that might help. “You’re high,” he says.
“Maybe,” you confess. “But I mean it.”
He’s been called quiet and nice all his life, but that was never the full truth. He just knew who deserved access to the rest of him, and most people didn’t. It wasn’t personal. He could talk when he wanted to, laugh when something was actually funny, keep a conversation going if he cared enough. He just didn’t feel the need to prove he had thoughts by saying all of them out loud.
Riki takes a drag, exhales slowly, looking over the tiles of the bathroom while he rethinks the decision he’s about to drop. He clears his throat before speaking, “You’re not mean either.”
Your eyes widen a little, gaze recklessly steady at his side profile. “You thought I was?”
“Everyone did,” he says honestly, smiling a little.
You make a face, frowning at him even though he refuses to look at you. “That’s rude.”
He laughs, really laughs this time, head tipping back. When he looks at you again, you’re smiling up at him like you’ve discovered something new and decided to keep it. For a moment, it feels like maybe there was always a version of this where you talked in bathrooms and shared smoke and didn’t belong where people expected you to.
You take another small drag, then suddenly straighten when you decide to take him in. He’s wearing a jacket over his hoodie, simple sweats loose around his hips. Only a few strands of his dark blonde hair graze over his forehead, leading down to the sharp features you only really notice now.
You never thought Riki Nishimura was ugly. Now, you can’t help but think that he’s… kinda hot.
You’re high, you’re just gone. That’s why. It also explains why you nudge closer than you have been before, letting your skirt brush slightly against his pants, thighs grazing slightly against his.
You’re both still smoking — slow now, like the room itself has decided to breathe with you. The bathroom feels even smaller than before, shrinking with every second the music downstairs gets louder but muffled through the wooden door keeping you a secret. Your head feels light, buoyant, like you’re floating a few inches above your body. Maybe it’s the weed. Maybe it’s the half-drinks you’d taken before this. Maybe it’s neither.
He stares at the tile beneath his boot like it holds the secrets of the universe, or like it had the equations for him to understand gravity’s intentions and how it led to him feeling your softness against him.
“Is there something on the floor?” you laugh.
He just huffs, shaking his head because that’s all he can do right now. You’re still leaning back and he’s still standing just a little too close. Your knee brushes his again, accidental but not corrected.
He looks down at you then. The red in your eyes, the crooked smile, the way you’re leaning just a little toward him like gravity’s doing something new. You lean closer because you’re completely zooted and smart-Riki who knows better, leans away and only lets his chest tighten. His eyes drop traitorously down to your lips, and he’s not fast enough to look back up. You notice, of course, which makes you both look away and straighten back on your feet instead of the wall.
Riki clears his throat, smoking the last of his before he rids of it against the sink. “You gotta go?” he asks out of the blue, which makes you frown a little. It wasn’t exactly a statement, but you know when things are implied and telling, so you shove back the nerves and remember that he’s different from you.
You’re not his type of person. He probably likes more chill people who actually know how to roll this shit — not the sheltered ones who’s clueless with THC or terms alike it.
“Yeah. I guess.” you smooth out your clothes even though nothing’s wrong with them.
He realizes what he just did, especially now that you’re not even looking back at him. He tries correcting himself, to backtrack, but the moment you glance back up, he’s silenced. You put your unfinished joint in his hand. “See you.” You say just before unlocking the door, slipping through it, and accidentally slamming it too hard.
Riki reels in from the solitude of the silence, like he’s now just realizing the ruins he broke himself. He sighs in resignation, head falling forward in defeat. “Shit.”
He stares at the thing in his hand, unfinished and yours, half-burnt and still warm.
“Idiot,” he mutters to himself, dragging a hand down his face. He can still feel the ghost of your skirt brushing his leg, the way you didn’t look back because he gave you a reason not to.
But the bathroom still smells like you — sweet perfume tangled with smoke — and the joint is there, remaining as an accusation wrapped in paper. He turns it between his fingers, thumb brushing the spot where your lipstick smudged faintly against the edge.
Riki exhales, then lifts it.
He wraps his lips around it carefully, stupidly aware of the fact that yours were there first. The thought alone makes his chest tighten, heat creeping up his neck and pelvis as he takes a slow drag.
He closes his eyes as he exhales, leaning his head back against the wall, heart thudding too loud for a room this small. For a split second, he imagines you still there — tilted smile, red-rimmed eyes, saying his name like it belongs to you, all while your boyfriend waits in the living room.
He laughs shakily under his breath. It’s so wrong.
After that, you two haven’t really talked for weeks.
That part isn’t weird. You both have lived the majority of your lives settling with the insouciance despite recognition, and one night in a bathroom, smoke and secrets and red eyes, isn’t enough to reroute that kind of muscle memory. Riki tells himself that over and over, like it’s a theorem he’s already proven.
He hasn’t been worried. He still goes to class, still shows up on time, still hands in assignments with some effort. The only difference — although barely worth mentioning — is that he’s been dipping into his stash more often than usual. A little before bed. A little after.
Riki exhales slowly, staring at the ceiling, telling himself — again — that this doesn’t mean anything and it doesn’t have anything to do with the cheer girl he kinda had a moment with in the bathroom.
It’s so fucked, even if you don’t think being his friend is bad, because you’re not meant to be a part of this. He was simply curious that Miss Cheerleader bought weed from him and kinda trusted him way too fast and that wasn’t just some everyday occurrence — that’s the only best psychological explanation why you’re here even when you’re not.
You have a boyfriend. He’s not about to be a homewrecker. Yet it’s not helping.
No talking for weeks, reaching a month even. That says enough. He has to stop.
“Probably about Little Miss Perfect.”
Riki flinches like someone just snapped a rubber band against the back of his neck. He sits up, glaring at Heeseung. “What the fuck,” he blurts. “How do you know that?”
Jake slowly looks up from his laptop, eyes lighting up like he just unlocked a bonus level.
“Oh my god.” Sunghoon’s grin spreads and Heeseung laughs, clapping like he’s won because technically he did, at the mental betting at what keeps Riki Nishimura downing his marijuana greenhouse.
“Ohhh,” Heeseung says, taunting and annoying. “So it is about her.”
Riki blinks. “No.”
“That was the weakest no I’ve ever heard,” Jake says immediately, pointing a finger at Riki. “You’re a guilty man, aren’t you?”
Riki scoffs, scrambling, fingers rubbing against his temple in attempts to cool. “You’re literally insane. Why would it be about her?”
Heeseung shrugs, casual. “I saw you two talking at that party.”
Riki’s stomach drops. “You — what?”
“Relax,” Heeseung says, laughing. “I wasn’t spying. You two just kinda had a freeze frame by the kitchen. Wasn’t so hard to notice.”
Riki opens his mouth, just to close it. Then he runs a hand through his hair with the irritated slant of said illegality stamped in your name. “We were just talking. Nothing happened.” Riki snaps, defensive again, hands up like he’s caught.
Jake squints at him. “Then why are you acting like that?”
Riki looks away. Usually, it’s enough answer to more teasing and mocking, but maybe not this time. Because now, it raises actual questions that regard his very bearing at this monumental association with you — a damn unicorn of a scene snatched out a comedy fantasy movie.
Heeseung asks carefully, “Are you, like, her boy toy or something?”
Riki whips around with the flush of unpredictability and utter shock. “What? No!”
Heeseung grins again, gentler this time. “Okay, not her boy toy. What now?”
Riki exhales, long and slow, falling back supine against the floor with the decency of a man with boundaries and the understanding of someone brilliant to keep himself away. “Nothing. She has a boyfriend. She lives in a different world.”
It’s realistic. He thinks he’ll drag the shit out of his stash to get his mind off this, because Riki Nishimura was a conformist by all means.
You’re where you’re supposed to be.
You laugh at the jokes while dawdling down the hallway with girls you actually consider your friends, your boyfriend’s arm heavy around your shoulders like it belongs there. You learned how to roll your own joints now, practiced with irritated little shrieks until it stopped being embarrassing, until they came out neat and perfect between your fingers. You don’t need him. You don’t need anyone, actually. Independence always looked good and natural on you.
Then Riki walks past with Heeseung and Jay.
Backpacks slung low, shoes dragging lazily against the floor, laughing about something stupid like someone’s terrible quiz score. Riki’s eyes stay forward like always, keeping his business private from everyone. Especially from you.
You don’t acknowledge each other beyond the bare minimum of peripheral awareness of two classmates that happen to be in the same class and two planets in the same orbit. Your boyfriend tightens his arm around you, leaning down to murmur something about lunch plans. You nod, glossed lips wrapped around a lollipop, sugar sweet and cherry-flavored on your tongue. You should be listening, you’re sure you are, until he passes.
Your eyes follow Riki — not openly, just enough to catch the back of his neck, the familiar slope of his shoulders, the same boy who leaned against a bathroom wall while you were high and laughing too much, knees brushing his because the room was small and neither of you moved away.
The lollipop slides down your tongue: all artificial sugar because the substance stays at home in the back of your secret drawer, while some of it just passed you down the hallway.
“I’ll catch up,” you say lightly, lifting your boyfriend’s arm off your shoulders. “I forgot something.”
You slip away before anyone can think too hard about it, weaving through the hallway with your lollipop still between your lips. You keep enough distance to make it look accidental, watching as Heeseung and Jay split off with quick fist bumps and loud voices. Riki keeps walking and pushes open the door to an empty lecture hall before disappearing inside.
You stop outside, remembering that this is probably the part where you’re supposed to turn around. Where the perfect, reasonable version of you remembers her boyfriend, her friends, her place in the hallway. Where the status quo reaches for your wrist and pulls you back into line.
Well, you push the door open.
Riki is near the front row, one hand still on the strap of his bag when he looks up from his seat, legs spread wide, thumbs midway to scroll through his phone. His eyes widen slightly, posture going still like he did not think you’d actually follow him.
For some reason, it thrills you. Because now he’s looking at you.
You pull the lollipop from your mouth, twirling the stick between your fingers as the door clicks shut behind you. “Hey.”
His eyes flick briefly to the door behind you. “You lost?”
This isn’t a bathroom of some random houseparty. There’s no smoke, no music, no excuse, just you, Riki, and an empty lecture hall in the middle of the school day — which means you came here on purpose.
“You should roll a joint for me again,” you say, like it’s so simple. “One of these nights.”
Riki blinks once. Then he huffs out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “What, you haven’t learned since last time?”
You step closer anyway, slow and unhurried, allowed to exist wherever you want. He leans back against his seat, still careful and invisibly (but truly) restless. “I did.” you answer, then you smile small and lazy. “You’re just better at it.”
That gets him (because you’ve been knowing what to say to get him). His eyes lift to you, amused now, something low and unreadable settling there which sets you on fire because you have no idea what he’s thinking, not even a little hint.
“Flattery,” he says, then scoffs.
You hum and step closer, close enough that his knee is almost in front of your thigh. Riki leans back in his seat, one arm loose over the desk beside him, phone forgotten in his lap.
“There’s another party this weekend,” you say. “At McKay’s. You and your friends should go.”
He tilts his head. “Should we?”
“I think so.” You shrug. “Good music, large pad, beer games.”
He chuckles, eyes dropping briefly to the floor before meeting yours again. “And you’ll be there.”
“Probably.”
“And you’ll want me to roll one for you.”
You pull the lollipop from your mouth, tapping it lightly against your lower lip as you think. “If you’re offering.”
“I’m not,” he says, but his mouth twitches.
You lean back against the edge of the desk beside him, copying his ease like you have any right to be comfortable around him. From far away, it would look casual, just two classmates talking before class. Except there’s only you standing between him and the empty rows, him sitting back in his seat, looking up at you with that unreadable expression while you try not to smile too much.
He should probably feel insulted that you only do this when nobody can see — maybe he does, if he still believes in self-respect. It’s just hard to stay offended when you’re looking at him like that.
Riki nods once. “I’ll think about it.”
Satisfied, you push off the table and head for the door. “Cool.”
When the door shuts behind you, he thinks about red eyes and smoke, about how your usual crowd will be there, your boyfriend’s arm around you just before you sneak away to Riki’s.
You’re trouble, which makes Riki smile. ‘Cause he knows damn well he’s going to that party.
-
McKay’s house is already vibrating when Riki gets there with Heeseung, Jake, and Sunghoon — bass rattling the windows, someone yelling about cups, someone else yelling back about something incomprehensible. Riki isn’t a frat boy at all, and he doesn’t really go to parties, but the perfume layered on top of alcohol is basically familiar territory.
“This place is a fire hazard,” Jake mutters, stepping over a discarded heel.
Riki scans the room pretending he doesn’t mean to, observing layouts and people, when really he’s actually looking for one specific designer wardrobe of a person.
He doesn’t see you, but he sees your usual crowd scattered around the room, posing with red cups they barely drink from and laughing a little too loud whenever someone points a camera at them. You’re not there, nor is your boyfriend, and that usually speaks for itself already.
Heeseung nudges him, already mischievous with the smile Riki can’t see. “Little Miss Perfect?”
“Fuck off,” Riki replies, flat.
Jake’s halfway to disbelief when he narrows his eyes at Riki. “You’re already staring.”
“She’s not even here,” the former hisses.
“Looking for her, though.” Sunghoon teases, practically grinning widely.
Riki pushes past them. “I’m getting a drink.”
He doesn’t get a drink. He goes through hallways and in between bodies that nudge abruptly into him, half-assed apologies going through one ear and out the other while he properly finds footing again and again. When he gets to the bathroom and finds it locked, he groans and leans back against the wall. For now, he flicks the light on his own joint and smokes away while he waits — for you, for the bathroom, for anything to make him think going here was worth it at all.
Too many girls brush against him, too many of them apologizing with tilted heads and lashes batting. He has no interest in rewarding the performance, not tonight, not when the party is already crawling under his skin, all bass-heavy music, sticky floors, smoke in the air, perfume clinging to his throat, and people packed so tightly he can’t move without touching someone. It’s too much at once; too loud, too hot, too bright, too dark. Then he sees it, and everything in him goes still.
Your boyfriend has another girl pushed against the bedroom wall.
Riki sees this through the crack of the door, just slightly opened enough for him to see how he moves his hand underneath her skirt really fucking aggressively. They’re kissing too, and it’s not at all sweet or even arousing; it’s just straight out gross. He chokes, coughing so rough and loud and forward he has to lunge himself off the wall and straight through the crowd because his first instinct is you.
Your boyfriend is cheating on you.
What the fuck is happening? Why’s your boyfriend fucking a girl like someone who knows nothing about clits? Now, Riki isn’t an expert about pleasing women but he’s watched porn enough to know that Exhibit A over there was straight-up persecution.
He finally spots you near the kitchen, talking to one of your friends with a cup in your hand. He starts toward you, but someone shoves past from behind, and he bumps lightly into your shoulder. You turn, already halfway to apologizing until you see him, your face already changing before you can stop it.
“You came,” you say, eyes flicking around before coming back to him.
He’s kinda out of breath, from the smoke and from hurrying, but he smiles too. “Yeah.”
While you’re still smiling, Riki clears his throat. It’s casual like he’s asking for a lighter, not like he’s abput to derail your night, ‘cause truth be told, he’s not sure he knows how you’ll react to the information. To be honest, he thinks about how it’s only fair — maybe — because he doubts your boyfriend knows you sneak into bathrooms with another guy. And sure, his hand isn’t performing DJ on your pussy, but the shared secrecy of eye contact with loaded tension is much more intimate than whatever the hell that was.
“Uh,” he says, hand rubbing on his jeans. “Can we talk? Like. Somewhere quieter.”
You blink. Then you nod, already stepping closer so he has to lean down to hear you.
“Bathroom or outside?” you ask, half-teasing.
“Outside,” he says easily.
The night is cold enough to make everything feel quieter, like it’s only the two of you standing under someone’s porch light while music leaks through the walls behind you. It’s strange, because you’re not even friends, not really, but the little space between you feels private in a way Riki doesn’t know what to do with. He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath since the second he walked into the house, then leans back against the railing and looks at you standing across from him.
He tries finding the words first, but the way you’re looking at him tightens his chest faster than his brain can work out. Is this karma for your cheating boyfriend? Is he the instrument God has given you to slam notes back to the guy you’re practically cheating on too?
Then Riki clears his throat, casual as hell. “I saw something inside,” he continues, tone still chill but eyes a little sharper now. “Your boyfriend.”
Your smile falters. “What about him?”
“He’s, uh.” Riki taps ash off the joint. “He was fucking a girl. On a wall.”
You stare at him for a while, and he’s half-expecting you to lash out, on him, on the crowd, on your boyfriend, on something.
Instead, you laugh this small, amused breath that slips out of you before you shrug, like he told you your boyfriend spilled punch on his shirt and not that he had just seen him with another girl.
What the fuck is happening?
It feels a lot like you don’t care and that surprises Riki leading him down a rabbit hole of introspection. He was already expecting you to cry and sob or scream in the party about how much of a dick he is, how you trusted him and gave him everything — all things they do when they find out their boyfriends are cheaters.
No, you just, “Wow.” then huff a laugh. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
He blinks once, watching you carefully while you regather your thoughts as a woman who’s been said something paltry rather than an admission of an affair. To be honest, Riki doesn’t understand, so now he just stands there and looks stunned. And confused. Very confused, actually.
Riki squints at you like he’s trying to solve a trick question. “That’s it?” he asks. “That’s your reaction?”
You shrug, lifting your cup to your lips for a sip. “I mean. It’s been happening. “We’re just sorta together for our parents. They’re friends so… but that’s a story for another night.”
Oh. He never thought fake relationships were a thing.
That makes sense. How come Riki didn’t know? Was he so out of touch from school gossips hat he genuinely didn’t know that you’re actually not the perfect couple he thought you two were? Is that why Heeseung and Jake and Sunghoon didn’t react so badly? Has this been a thing? Oh my God, Riki’s ecstatic and he hasn’t even finished a joint yet.
He lets out a quick, unguarded sound. “Jesus.”
You lean back against the railing across from him, far too relaxed for a revelation that should have ruined someone’s eyeliner. Riki watches you for a second, waiting for the anger, the hurt, the sharp inhale before you turn and storm back inside. But you just stand there, cup in hand, looking more inconvenienced than heartbroken.
That’s when it hits him, slow and weirdly humiliating, that you might not care about the relationship at all.
“But,” you say lightly, “thanks for telling me.”
He blinks, then shakes his head a little. “Yeah.” His voice comes out slower than usual. “No worries.”
You glance at the joint between his fingers, your eyes lingering a second too long on the veins along his hand. “You always this heroic when you’re high?”
“No,” he says, deadpan. “It’s just who I am.”
You laugh, and despite everything, his mouth twitches. He looks back toward the door, half-expecting your boyfriend to come out and make the night complicated. When no one does, he relaxes, shoulders easing, but not completely.
Because this is new information.
Someone inside screams the chorus to a song, and the night’s way too cold for the silence that buzzes. Riki offers the joint without looking at you, just holds it out between two fingers like it’s nothing.
You hesitate for half a second. But you take it.
“You have a car?” you suddenly ask while you take a puff.
Riki blinks once, then lets out a quiet laugh, dragging his thumb along the bridge of his nose. Right, so this is his life now. He sells you weed one time, and somehow he’s standing outside a party while your boyfriend (?) cheats inside and you look mildly bored about it.
It’s stupid. It’s also the most interesting thing that’s happened to him in months.
So he just sighs and slumps back a little. “Yeah. I do.”
“Let’s go,” you say, completely not a question, flicking the finished joint on the pavement and trampling it beneath your heel. “I wanna smoke.”
He lets you trail after him through the side yard like this is already something you do, like he isn’t silently praying no one sees you following him away from the party. Gravel crunches under your shoes, the bass growing duller behind you as you cross the street toward his Supra, parked sleek and dark under the streetlamp. Riki unlocks it without looking back, rounds the hood, and opens the passenger door for you like it’s nothing.
You notice. You just don’t say anything.
Inside, the car actually smells clean and like coffee, for someone you’ve assumed is mad about marijuana and sorts alike (well, again, he’s proven how neat he is just for smelling so fucking good). He slides into the driver’s seat and just sits there for a second before turning the engine on, heater clicking low.
The silence settles, but it doesn’t feel awkward, which Riki finds suspicious. Maybe it’s because you’re not acting like the version of you he’s used to, all neat edges and perfect timing. Now your heels are on the floor of his car, your hair is loose around your face, and you’re curled into the passenger seat of a Supra you’ve never sat in before like your body decided to trust him before your brain could argue. He clears his throat, trying to get rid of the warmth at the back of his neck, but you only glance at him like you don’t notice. The hem of your skirt rides up consequently, and he tries his hardest not to look.
“Thanks. For caring.”
He shrugs, one hand resting loose on the steering wheel. “Didn’t feel right not to tell you.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.”
The radio flicks on — some pop song bleeding through the speakers. He then pulls out pre-rolled joints from his pockets, which he sheepishly apologizes for hygiene and, well, it’s a bit delated, although you just smile and take one. He lights yours up and you two stay there, settled in his warm seats, dissolving the chill with cannabis down your system like two people who doesn’t give a shit about the system and fucking power dynamics and popularity status.
Again, weird. Hanging out in his car like you’re old buddies who smoke in free time on the usual.
If he told himself a month ago that he would be smoking weed with the team cheer captain, he would have laughed his ass off about inhaling too much narcotics that totally screwed mental frameworks. Yet now, he’s stealing a few glances at you beside him, getting high off his greens, and he doesn’t feel completely off-center about it. It’s the weed obviously, but he feels steady. It’s charged because you’re not talking but your thoughts are everywhere, and even if you protrude the profile of indifference — he knows you care. Then again, what does he know about you, right? You are the odd in the equation, the alternative hypothesis that proves the difference in variables, and talks about the impact on the situation.
Now, conformist Riki Nishimura, who has spent his whole life respecting the ladder, is starting to wonder what happens if he climbs high enough to stand beside someone like you.
He stares through the windshield the second before he speaks. “You’re not what people think you are.”
You blink, caught off guard as you turn to him. “Is that good or bad?”
He huffs. “Depends who’s thinking it.”
You smile a little, your eyes moving over him before you can pretend they didn’t. Riki isn’t brawny in that loud, gym-mirror way, but he’s taller than he should be, broader than he looks from a distance, and unfairly very put together. His throat moves when he breathes in, and you catch yourself watching it for one embarrassing second too long.
You chew on your bottom lip. “And what do you think?”
Riki shifts in his seat, hand fidgeting against the wheel like he’s weighing how honest he’s allowed to be. “I think you’re quieter than your reputation.”
You study him now — the calm posture, the way he never overdoes anything, the way his voice stays even like he’s learned not to tip his hand.
He glances at you, then back ahead. “Makes it easier.”
You look at him for a second too long. “Easier for who?”
“You tell me.”
The car feels smaller and the windows are fogged enough that the streetlamp outside is just a blur of light now, like you’ve been sealed off from everything else. Away from the reality that boxes you two into something that makes sense rather than accepts.
You laugh once, but it comes out softer than planned. “You always psychoanalyze girls in your car?”
“No.”
“Just me?”
His mouth twitches. “You asked.”
You turn your head toward the window, trying to keep your face normal. “You don’t know me that well.”
“I know.”
Riki finally turns to you, one hand still resting loose on the steering wheel. His eyes are a little low, a little unreadable, but not careless — that might be the problem.
“I’m not saying I do,” he says. “I’m saying people don’t either.”
Your fingers fidget with the joint, rolling it carefully between them even though you’re barely paying attention to it anymore. The tip glows faintly, forgotten for a second, and Riki reaches over without thinking to tap the ash into the tray before it can fall on your skirt.
You look down at his hand, then back at him when he hands it to you.
“Don’t you think that’s weird?” you ask. “Like, what kind of girl is cheer captain and smokes weed? Who gets into a fake relationship because of her parents? Doesn’t that sound kind of fucked?”
He looks at you for a moment.
Then he leans back, eyes returning to the windshield. “I sell weed.”
He says it from the driver’s seat of a spotless car that smells like coffee and cologne. It’s stupidly funny, actually, the whole contrast of him that kinda looks like you.
You laugh before you can stop yourself. “That’s different.”
“How?” he snickers.
You open your mouth, then close it again because you don’t actually have a good answer. “I don’t know,” you admit, laughing a little. “It just is.”
He hums like he expected that. Then he glances at you before back through the windshield. “I don’t think you’re weird,” His eyes flick over your face. “I think you’re bored.”
Obviously, that makes you furrow your brows. Obviously, you let him continue speaking.
“Of your boyfriend. Your friends. Your parents already knowing what you’re going to do.” His mouth twitches faintly. “Probably bored at being good at the same shit every day.”
You should probably deny it. It surprises you that you don’t, even though you’ve sworn hatred towards men that think they can assume your personality because of one little circumstance.
“That’s why you’re here, right?” Riki’s eyes drop to your hand, then back to your face.
Your throat tightens.
“With me,” he adds.
He doesn’t smile like he won, he just sits there with one hand loose on the wheel, like he already knows the answer and is kind enough not to make you say it.
The air between you feels worse, like the moment before a storm cracks open into his car, and electrocutes you with a spark you’ve never experienced in your life. Which is eccentric considering you’re not the type of girl who’d be in Riki’s car instead of a party dominated by your friends, getting high off shit that would make your parents pass out.
You scoff and look away, shaking your head like the whole thing is ridiculous. “You talk like you know everything.”
“I just guessed one fucking thing.”
You roll the joint between your fingers again, slower now. “Maybe I just wanted to try something.”
“With me?”
Your eyes cut to him, and you see there’s a slight curve to his mouth, like he heard the shape of your answer before you even made it.
You huff. “You’re so annoying.”
Neither of you moves. Just suspended there, breathing the same warm air, the song on the radio dissolving into background noise, the world narrowed down to inches and intent and maybe weak will and strong urges. The tension’s palpable, solid enough that you could feel it grow between your thighs.
You’re probably one more joint away from being zooted, and Riki knows this of course, which is why he keeps his eyes narrowed across him and not the woman who’s audibly shifting in her seat.
He’s high too — faster than usual — and it makes the moment stretch in this you know kind because he’s thinking bad. He keeps his gaze trained somewhere between the fogged windshield and the blur of your reflection in it, like it’s the only thing keeping him at bay.
For the record — you’re both twenty, obviously adults, even if the world still insists on calling you kids. Which is also the very age people let you experience the paradox of being too grown and too immature for anything consistent, so the underestimation you endure as an adult, smart woman, cheerleader, and a kinda-child — wow you’re in deep detestation for that system.
So you take control of things you can handle.
You’re a conformist, no doubt. Except in areas you loathe men’s freedom in yet expect restraint for women. So… in diminutive ways, you indulge. Like weed. Like running council. Like wearing short skirts. Like Riki Nishimura.
You glance at him sideways, voice light, almost bored. Almost. “So,” you say, like you’re asking about his major or what song’s playing on the radio. “I will ask you something kind of personal.”
Riki exhales a quiet laugh. “You’re already in my car smoking my weed. I think the line’s gone.”
You smile, satisfied, then tilt your head back against the seat.
“Are you a virgin?”
The question hangs there. Unembellished and very dangerous in its simplicity. Also, of course, bold, which makes Riki actually freeze — a half-second pause where even his breathing stutters. Then he scoffs, shaking his head like he can’t believe you just dropped that between the heater hum and the low bass leaking from the house.
He blames the weed, though part of him wishes it isn’t from that.
“You always ask things like that?”
“I’m curious,” you say easily. “And a little high.” you gesture with your thumb and forefinger.
He rubs the back of his neck, eyes flicking to you now despite himself. “Why?” he asks. “Does it change your opinion of me?”
You meet his gaze, unblinking. “I don’t know yet. That’s why I asked.”
He huffs a soft laugh. He admits to embarrassment, even if it doesn’t cover his entire skin with flush and heat, he’s never found himself in this position. But honestly, nothing from the past few weeks has ever been something he prepared for — which he has you to blame, of course.
“Yeah.” he licks the corner of his lips, refusing to meet your eyes while he taps the steering wheel. “I am.”
Your eyebrows lift, impressed but not shocked. “Huh.”
Riki looks over. “Huh?” he mocks.
You bite back a smile and turn toward the window, but the reflection gives you away. “I just didn’t expect that.”
He scoffs, looking back at the windshield. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” You shrug, still smiling a little. “You sell weed. And you drive this car.”
“And?”
“And you look like that.”
For one second, Riki’s fingers still on the steering wheel, and he learns to shut up. He lets out a quiet laugh after, but it sounds different this time, lower and almost embarrassed. “You’re so fucking high,”
That makes him quiet, makes him adjust on his seat. He’s touched a woman before, but no one’s ever sat on his dick, nor has he ever been in anyone. So maybe he’s half a virgin, maybe he’s just a sore loser. He watches you as you move, as you turn in the seat, knees pressing into the leather, facing him fully now. The space changes instantly, the air recalibrating around your movement and maybe even pushing you further toward him.
Riki stiffens — just suddenly very aware, and perhaps a little scared. “Uh,” he says, brows knitting. “What are you doing?”
You tilt your head, resting your hands casually on the seat, perfectly balanced. “Bored, like you said,” you say. “And my boyfriend’s cheating on me. Again.”
He swallows. His gaze drops, then snaps back up to your face, like he’s trying very hard to stay respectful and failing in slow motion because you’re especially gorgeous tonight. “That’s… not a great combo,” he says.
“Not really,” you agree.
You lean in just enough for him to feel it — not touch, not yet. Just close enough that he can smell your gloss, the faint sweetness still clinging to you, and the cannabis that if he warrants himself the scary concept, is his mark on you.
“At least you don’t think I’m boring.”
Riki exhales, a real one this time, like he’s surrendering to the moment instead of fighting it because what can a simple guy like him do, right? His eyes flick to your mouth again — longer now — and when he looks back up, there’s a decision there, from someone who’s tired of conforming.
You close the distance then, slow enough that he could pull away if he wanted to. When he doesn’t, your lips meet in a kiss that’s brief and soft at first. Riki’s hand lifts instinctively, stopping just short of your waist, hovering there like he’s giving you the choice.
When you kiss again, you’re pressing harder, with the very intent to steal the air from his lungs. So that is what happens, you inhale and climb over the console and close your knees around his waist and he’s breathing shakily against your mouth, fighting for the oxygen he’s willingly giving away.
Your cunt presses against the zipper of his jeans, and when you roll, he pulls away like he’s burnt.
“W-wait — this isn’t — we can’t do this.” He shakes his head insistently, looking down your joined thighs while he regains composure.
You frown. “Why not?”
He looks back up at you, eyes wide and glossy from the taste of your cherry gloss and his greens in your mouth. He looks like he can’t handle this. You’re high, he’s high, this isn’t a good idea. You’re perfect, he’s not, this isn’t a good idea. You’re pretty and he sells weed, this isn’t a good idea.
“Because you have a boyfriend.” he says weakly.
You smile, fingers brushing into the hair at his nape. “Not really.”
He stares at you before he laughs, quiet and disbelieving, like the whole situation is so stupid he has no choice but to let it be funny for half a second. You’re in his lap, his car is fogged, your party is across the street, and apparently your boyfriend is more of a family arrangement than an actual person you care about.
“This is so fucked,” he mutters.
Still, he kisses you anyway. His hand finally settles at your waist, firm enough to make your breath catch. His fingers press into your flesh just before he pulls you closer and his hips thrusts up underneath you.
His bulge presses hard against your clothed cunt, and a small whimper slips out his mouth. Your thighs practically clench around him, your core tightening as you rub yourself on him. Beneath the jeans secured around his hips, the start of his v-line peeks, in which you softly graze with your thumb.
“F-fuck,” he whispers, resigned while he lets his head fall back against the headrest.
When you kiss him again this time, it’s slow and languid and licking into his mouth, and your hips start rolling against his while he unconsciously bucks into you. You gasp at the feeling of his growing erection despite the jeans, and you can’t help but feel rushed because it’s been way too long.
His body’s hot and he doesn’t understand why he can’t even talk properly. “Are you okay?” you ask, kissing his cheek. He just nods.
“This is so wrong,” Riki says softly and raspy.
You just smile and kiss him again, feeling how sloppy he’s starting to become when your tongues meet. You set the pace, careful with how you bite and suck, more of a learning curve with what you like best rather than devouring. Riki realizes this and slows down too, relaxing underneath your thighs while his cock remains bulging against you. Your soft fingers slither at the back of his hair, tugging and caressing, while he finds the courage to sneak his tongue into your mouth.
When you pull to breathe, he’s practically panting. “You can touch me.” you whisper.
His gaze practically flicks up to look up at you, silently asking for clarification. You don’t use words, you instead take his wrists and start dragging his hands from your waist to underneath your shirt. His breath hitches at the feeling of your soft skin against his, watching intently as you guide his hands further beneath your cotton top, until his fingers slightly grazes the soft swell of the underside of your breasts.
“Shit.” Riki mutters, his breath unstable when you let go. He looks for your eyes, asking for instructions, except you just smile and lean in to kiss him again with your hands on his jaw.
So he takes it upon himself to move by his own. His fingers grazes the soft skin, careful and learning, testing the underside swell by gently squeezing. After that, he gains confidence, hands going further up until they touch your nipples.
You gasp, pulling away to breathe when he starts gently pinching them, rolling them against the pads of his fingertips. He plays with them for a little while, watching your reactions when you sigh heavy, when your eyes close, when you lean further against his touch. It’s so good, he doesn’t even notice how painfully hard he is when he can feel just how sensitive your nipples are, when he can feel the weight of your breast as he cups them.
After a while, he finally stops, hands gliding down your ribs instead, thumbs still grazing slightly at the curve. Your kissing eases, reduced to pecks and softness. At rest and caress, you giggle and he chuckles, finally reeling in from the moment at how high he feels.
From your taste, your softness, your clothed pussy still pressing against his hard-on.
“You’re good for a virgin.” you say.
At that, Riki huffs and leans his head back against the rest, caressing your waist while he watches your face. You’re very pretty, even when your lipsticks smudged and you’re clearly teasing him, not touching him at all.
He doesn’t mind. He doesn’t think he’ll mind for a long time. “I’m trying to make decent decisions.”
You tilt your head. “And kissing me is one?”
His jaw tightens a little, but he smiles. “It’s a very bad decision.”
“Mm.” You lean closer, but you don’t kiss him this time. “You stopped.”
“Because I don’t want to be your rebound,”
The teasing fades just a little. Your fingers, which had been lazily tracing the back of his neck, slow, and now you look at him too, at the way he’s looking at you like something cliche is about to happen now that he’s tasted something better than marijuana.
“You think I’d use you?” you ask.
He shrugs. “I don’t know.”
You study him for a moment. His nose and ears are still pink, which admittedly does something to you. It makes him look shyer somehow, less untouchable, like all that quiet control has slipped just enough for you to see he’s not as unaffected as he wants to seem.
He looks back at you, thumb moving once at your waist. “Let me take you out.”
You stare at him. “You’re asking me on a date right now? While I’m sitting on you?”
His mouth twitches despite himself. “Not my best timing.”
You laugh, soft and surprised, but he doesn’t laugh with you right away. You lean in again, slower and softer, just lips meeting and staying there, but his breath still hitches. You lets it last for a few seconds before you pull back, still close enough that your noses nearly brush.
“Ask me when we’re not high.”
Then he laughs once, quiet and disbelieving, his hand flexing at your waist. “Fine.”
Riki drives you home that night and you arrive at around 3 am, friends completely unaware of where you are or who you’re with — but you don’t care, even when your phone’s blown out of weird proportion. You laugh when he insists on walking you to your front porch, just to make sure you don’t slip and fall and he wouldn’t lose his favorite weed customer.
“You’re ridiculous, Riki Nishimura.” you shove at his arm weakly.
“And you,” he leans down enough that his nose nudges yours. “are so pretty.”
You laugh harder, admittedly a little flustered the way you never have been before. He tells you to eat something real when you head in, and you mock him for it but he just smiles and nods, agrees with the idea he is so, very stupid and funny for you.
Riki thinks the universe is testing him. Because ever since last night, every single thing reminds him of you.
The cherry gloss taste still ghosting his mouth when he wakes up, the faint perfume lingering on his hoodie, even the stupid heater smell in the car feels different now, like the seats remember the way you climbed over the console and kissed him until his dick ached for you.
“Dude,” Jake says, throwing his duffel bag. “You look like shit.”
Riki drags a hand through his hair. “Thanks.”
Jake doesn’t push it, which Riki appreciates for about three seconds before he sees where the cheer team is practicing. On the other side of the gym court, you’re standing with your friends, ponytail tied high, hands on your hips while you go over counts as the captain. You’re not doing anything special, occasionally laughing at something one of the girls beside you says, but Riki still feels his attention pull toward you like it has no discipline left.
He looks away first.
PE is already starting by the time he reaches their side of the court. He pulls his sleeveless shirt down properly and rolls his shoulders once, mostly because he needs something to do with his body. His hair keeps falling near his eyes, and he can feel sweat gathering at the back of his neck before class has even properly started.
He tells himself not to look. But then he looks.
You’re already looking too.
It only lasts a second. Your eyes meet his, then drop briefly to his arms before you turn back to your friends like nothing happened. Riki presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek and looks at the ball in his hands, suddenly way too aware of himself.
Jake notices, but all he does is glance between the two of you. “Since when do you know her like that?”
Riki bounces the ball once. “I don’t.”
Jake gives him a look. Riki doesn’t look back. “Not like that.”
“Okay.”
The drill starts, and for a while, it’s just run, catch, dribble, pass, move. Riki focuses on the court, on the PE teacher’s whistle, on the ball against his palms. It works for half the time, until your voice cuts across the space, counting with the rest of the cheer team, and he misses a pass by half a second.
“Pay attention,” Jake says, not even laughing.
“I am.”
“You’re really not.”
Later, when the class breaks for water, Riki walks toward the drinking fountain and finds you there already, refilling your bottle. Your friends are a few steps away, talking among themselves, close enough to notice if either of you makes it obvious, far enough that neither of you has to pretend not to see each other.
He stands behind you to wait for his turn, and from afar, it doesn't look scandalous. You take your time refilling your bottle, eyes forward, one hand steadying the plastic under the stream. He keeps his gaze on the wall in front of you, jaw working once, because he knows exactly what you're doing when you lean a little farther than necessary and let the silence stretch.
Your skirt shifts when you bend, showing the backside of your thighs and the slight swell of your ass, and he sighs through his nose like he's deeply disappointed in both of you. Then he looks away completely.
You bite back a smile.
When the bottle finally fills, you straighten and cap it slowly, still not moving right away. He doesn't meet your eyes when you step aside, he just moves in, bends toward the fountain, and presses one hand against the edge for balance.
Then it's your turn to look away. But you don't, not even shamelessly. Because you’re the girl who got things her way and never got scared of the repercussions.
His sleeveless shirt pulls against his shoulders when he leans down, arm tense from holding himself there, the veins along his bicep showing under the gym lights. Water hits his mouth, and you watch the way his hair falls near his eyes, the way his throat moves when he swallows. It's stupid, actually, how normal he's being and how much worse that makes it.
Riki finishes drinking, straightens, and wipes the water from his chin with the back of his hand. Only then does he look at you.
You're still staring. And for a second, neither of you says anything.
His expression barely changes, but something in his eyes does, like he caught you and decided not to make it easy. "What?"
You blink, then lift your bottle a little. "You took forever."
He looks at you, calm, unreadable, except for the faint color rising at the tips of his ears and the slight lift on the corner of his mouth. "You're one to talk."
Your friends laugh at something behind you, and the sound snaps the moment thinner, not enough to break it, but enough to remind you both where you are. You glance over your shoulder, then back at him, only to find he's still watching you. Not obviously, just enough to show that he knows exactly what that night did to you, and worse, exactly what this day is doing too.
And that he’s enjoying the view.
You tuck your bottle against your chest and step back. "Try not to miss another pass."
His mouth curves. "Then don't distract me."
The second he says it, your smile gets bigger, like a shared inside joke between you two now. Then you turn back to your team, and he stays by the fountain for one extra second, pretending the afternoon heat is the reason he can't stop feeling warm. In the locker room, he pretends it’s celibacy that’s making his cock hard again, and not the picture of you bending in front of him, the fat of your ass presenting itself to him so adorably.
In the cafeteria, while pages turn and keyboards clack for an upcoming test for biology, you try your best to stay focused the way you can on the usual. Riki was right about you — you were smarter than what people thought, and the merit beside your name is shocking to a whole lot when it’s pasted on the board.
You think you’re no longer smart. Not when you’re staring at the open reviewer in front of you, color coded with little sticky tabs but you’re still distracted.
You grab your coffee and drink, just to try if that could help with your lost concentration. Something about protein synthesis and cell division. Something about how Riki’s hands looked wrapped around the steering wheel that one night while he called you weird and interesting in the same breath.
This is so inconvenient.
“Babe.”
Your boyfriend slides into the empty chair beside you like he owns the furniture, sunglasses pushed up on his head even though the cafeteria lighting could barely offend a bitch. His hand settles automatically on your thigh beneath the table, casual and familiar, and you almost flinch.
“You disappeared last night,” he says casually.
You lean back in your chair. “I told you I left.”
“Yeah, but where?”
You think briefly about Riki’s car parked under the streetlamp — fogged windows, heated air, cherry gloss smeared on his mouth, plump lips smirking in restraint, hands squeezing you in the right place, keeping you in place.
“I just went home,” you reply smoothly.
Your boyfriend hums, clearly unconvinced, but also has about three seconds of emotional stamina left for the topic, so he lets it go and steals one of your fries instead. “My parents want dinner with you this weekend.” he says instead.
He continues talking about it but you’re staring at the flashcards and reviewers in front of you, imagining what your parents would say if Riki would’ve showed up to a family dinner instead. Maybe he’d appear in different clothes, a white button-up just to sit there and attempt to look polite in ways he isn’t with you — which makes your heart jump a little.
Dinner drags on for three excruciating hours.
Three whole hours of crystal glasses and polished silverware and your boyfriend’s parents discussing investment portfolios. The restaurant is one of those stupidly expensive places where portions are microscopic and every waiter looks vaguely judgmental — you don’t complain, you’re rather very grateful for his parents (sometimes).
You sat there in a pretty dress your mother picked out. Your boyfriend talks over you twice when you try contributing to the conversation, his mother asks about your grades before asking how cheerleading is going, like academics and aesthetics are the only two things remotely interesting about you. At some point, your boyfriend likes another girl’s Instagram story right beside you at the table and everything about the night is just bad.
You just feel tired, especially on the way home.
Tired in the way performances always leave you feeling like you’ve spent hours acting inside a role you got stuck with years ago — because it mostly worked in your favor, until that one time you decided to jump out of your comfort zone and try weed. It’s the worst thing you have done, but it’s the only thing that made you feel good.
Your heels click quietly against the marble floors when you enter your house and you make it halfway upstairs before the pressure behind your eyes finally cracks. Obviously, you don’t sob out of sadness, just frustrated tears slipping down your cheeks while you struggle with the zipper of your dress. “Fuck,” you mutter.
Your makeup’s ruined now; mascara faintly smudged beneath your eyes, lipstick mostly gone except for traces still staining your mouth.
Before you can think too hard about it — which is kind of bad — you open Riki’s contact, and your fingers move faster than your dignity can intervene.
you:
he actually sucks so bad
like genuinely i think talking to drywall has more nuance
You exhale through your nose and laugh weakly at yourself because obviously Riki probably has better things to do than babysit you after 9PM, not when you’re just another weed customer and smoking buddy he had. You toss your phone onto the bed and sit in silence for a second, still in your dress, earrings discarded somewhere.
You try not to think about anything for the minutes you’ve spent staring at the ceiling: not about Riki, or your dumb boyfriend, or your (im)perfect life, or the way Riki kissed you, or the way he looked at you, or the way he thought about you.
Because that's the part that bothers you most. Not the kiss itself, not even the fact that you wanted it, but the way he seemed to actually think about you before touching you. Like you weren't just pretty or convenient or someone people liked because you made sense beside them. Riki looked at you like he was trying to understand you, and somehow that felt more intimate than anything you've ever had.
And maybe that makes you painfully average.
Maybe you’re not special at all, maybe you’re just another girl in the long, embarrassing history of girls who developed feelings for the first boy who looked at them like they were a person. Congratulations, really. Very original and groundbreaking, for being part of the emotionally confused teenage girls.
You turn onto your side and press your face into your pillow, immediately hating yourself for how dramatic that feels.
Until something taps three times against your window.
Your brows furrow immediately because your bedroom is on the second floor and nobody normally knocks on windows like some suburban horror movie, you don’t even try to look because of what could be there. For a second, you genuinely think you’re hallucinating from emotional exhaustion and expensive restaurant food and maybe (you did not do prior research) the possibility of the long term hallucinations of marijuana.
Then it happens again. Three deliberate taps.
You sit up slowly from the edge of your bed, the strap of your dress slipping off one shoulder while your heels remain abandoned somewhere near the door. When you turn to the window, your heart practically falls from your chest when you see Riki standing outside like a fucking delinquent moron. He’s standing on the roof of the first floor near your window, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, while one hand steadies himself against the frame.
You burst out laughing while fumbling with the lock of your window. Riki’s entire expression softens the second he hears you laugh and that does something unhealthy to him.
Because he drove for twenty minutes thinking about you crying over some guy who doesn’t even look at you properly, wondering if climbing a house at this hour officially qualifies as insanity (he’s never done that before, and it doesn’t sound so conformist right now either). Riki’s usually good at self-restraint, at risk assessment, at understanding what makes sense and what doesn’t.
For the record, this doesn’t make sense. Yet here he is anyway.
“Hi.”
You stare at him in disbelief once you finally open your window. “What the fuck are you doing?” you whisper-yell.
“You sounded sad.”
“Is that supposed to be an answer?”
“What?” he says defensively while climbing inside carefully. “You said your boyfriend sucks. That sounded shitty.”
The second he lands properly inside your room, he looks at you before anything else. He’s used to seeing you fixed with perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect posture, like you just stepped out of a university brochure about good conduct and that the school cheer spirit is something one definitely needs for personal development.
This version of you feels familiar, and traitorously and selfishly, he thinks it’s for him.
Your dress is wrinkled now, your jewelry sits slightly crooked against your skin, your makeup’s smudged enough to expose the eyebags underneath, and your hair’s started falling from whatever expensive style you wore to dinner.
Riki swallows once before he can stop himself. “You were crying?”
Immediately, you look away, a bit embarrassed when you realize what you look like. “Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not making it weird,” he says quickly, hands lifting instinctively. “I just.”
He cuts himself off because he suddenly realizes he has no idea how to navigate this. Girls usually don’t text him while being miserable and summon him to their bedroom windows like some modern romance movie directed by a bad romcom enthusiast. Nothing is romcom-y about this.
So instead, awkwardly, he holds the backyard vegetation toward you.
“I got you these.”
Flowers. They aren’t roses and lilies, especially not the peonies your boyfriend orders because it looks better in pictures. They’re not anything arranged like the bouquets your boyfriend’s family sends during competitions and birthdays and events where impression matters. They usually screamed ‘I have money’ so I had my manager fix these for you.
Riki brought you wildflowers, which are tiny white, yellow, and purple ones bundled unevenly together like he picked them himself on the side of the road and decided, yeah, these ones are perfect. They’re crooked and asymmetrical and a little pathetic, and it weirdly looks a lot like you.
You take them carefully, looking down at the tiny flowers bundled together with what suspiciously resembles a broccoli rubber band.
“Oh my God,” you laugh quietly. “These are so ugly.”
He looks offended immediately. “Okay, first of all, fuck you.”
You laugh, open and loud. “They’re literally weeds.”
“I mean. Matches us, no?” he argues.
You’re still smiling when you bring them closer to inspect, and he notices your eyes when you admire them because he notices everything when it comes to you now, apparently.
“He made you cry?” he asks quieter this time.
You look up at him, flowers resting against your chest while you slump a little. “Not exactly.”
He raises his brows. “That means yes.”
You sigh, gaze dropping to the petals between your fingers. “He’s just…” You shake your head slowly. “I don’t know. I guess I’m really sick of it.”
Riki stays quiet — not because he doesn’t have thoughts, but because he has too many.
The thing is, he understands that social hierarchy is basically one giant theater production and he’s spent his entire life studying how to survive inside it correctly — he’s admitted to live in it quite comfortably. Which people to talk to, which ones to avoid, what behavior keeps life stable and uncomplicated, who not to sell weed to.
You were supposed to be part of that stable world, the part that he shouldn’t have had any associations with. Instead, you’re now standing barefoot in front of him holding ugly flowers with watery eyes while confiding in him like he’s become something safe. Now he’s giving a girl weeds for flowers, while his own cannabis has become untouched for quite a while now.
You narrow your eyes up at him suddenly, a teasing smile on your lips. “You could’ve used the front door.”
“And say what?” he snorts. “‘Good evening, your daughter texted me so I’m here to comfort her?”
You laugh again and Jesus Christ, he thinks he’d probably climb ten more roofs if it meant hearing that sound a second time.
Which is not good at all.
He looks around your room now, and he finds that is not in the dramatic movie sense where he’s overwhelmed by femininity and candles or whatever bullshit directors think teenage girls do in bedrooms. It’s just your space and that feels undeniably you in a way he’s never gotten access to before — never thought he would, actually. There’s a stack of annotated reviewers on your desk beside skincare products, then a half-folded cheer uniform hangs over your chair. Your bookshelf is organized by color at first glance, but he notices that some books are stuffed sideways and doubled-up like gave up halfway through organizing.
You’re contradiction after contradiction. Which feels fitting considering Riki’s currently inside the bedroom of a girl he once categorized under absolutely not my problem.
This is exactly why social structures exist. To prevent situations like this where a guy who sells weed ends up standing in the bedroom of a girl who looks expensive enough to kill him.
You set the flowers carefully on your vanity like they’re not random plants held together by produce rubber. Riki watches how gentle your hands are, watches the way your dress slips slightly higher on your thigh when you move.
You step closer to him after, eyes peeking through your lashes, and he starts to feel drunk from your perfume. “You really came all the way here because I was sad?” you ask softly.
Riki opens his mouth automatically with something sarcastic prepared because that’s safer, because joking is easier than admitting the truth. But then he looks at you looking at him like he’s become something important frighteningly fast.
Honesty slips out before he can stop it. “Yeah.”
Your eyes soften in a way that completely wrecks him, because nobody’s ever looked at him like this before — like he did something meaningful instead of useful.
You step even closer now until there’s barely space between you. “You’re really bad at being casual,” you murmur.
He huffs a laugh. “You climbed into my lap the first time we kissed.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“I was high.”
“And what’s your excuse now?”
Your lips twitch and his gaze drops there instinctively.
Big mistake, because now he’s thinking about kissing you again and suddenly being in your bedroom at midnight feels significantly more dangerous than it did when he drove here. Riki clears his throat and looks away first. Usually he’s good at eye contact, good at keeping composure, good at staying levelheaded even when situations become complicated, because he knows emotional regulation keeps things orderly, predictable, and safe.
You are none of those things anymore.
Standing this close to you feels like someone slowly dismantling every sensible thought process he’s ever had and replacing it with bad decisions and pretty girls in wrinkled dresses.
Riki swallows, eyes still not fully on yours. “Do you know what you’re gonna do?”
You sigh, shoulders dropping a little as you look away. “I don’t know.”
Riki nods, though he doesn’t look surprised. “Well,” he says quietly, “you aren’t happy.”
The honesty in his voice catches you off guard, because it isn’t dramatic or possessive or demanding — it’s actually the complete opposite. He says things carefully. Your boyfriend never talks to you carefully.
You study Riki for a second — the slight flush across his cheeks, the hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, the fact he literally climbed your house because you sounded sad over text.
Clearly, he’s lost the plot somewhere. He might find it in your room, but why would it be there?
You look at the boy who notices everything about you, who reads you better than anyone ever did. And maybe that’s pathetic, but after a long time of performance and image, you can’t quite find irrationality when something finally sees you so clearly.
You don’t even realize you’re crying again until his expression changes. The tears just spill over quietly, slipping down your cheeks before you can catch them, and for a second, you don’t understand why his eyes drop there with so much concern because you aren’t sad, nor overwhelmingly happy.
His hand lifts and his fingers touch your cheek lightly and carefully. His thumb brushes beneath your eye, catching the tear before it reaches your jaw. Then the other hand comes up too, steadying your face with a gentleness that makes your throat tighten worse than the crying did. You stare up at him while he wipes your face like it’s something important, his hands warm, his touch steady even though his breathing isn’t. He just keeps his palms against your cheeks, thumbs soft under your eyes, focused on you.
Riki’s thumb slows beneath your eye, his gaze moving over your face with something almost pained. “You’re too pretty to cry over him,” he says quietly.
Your hand lifts before you can think better of it, fingers wrapping gently around his wrist to keep him there. His skin is warm beneath your palm, and for a second, his whole body seems to still when you touch him. You look up at him because he’s so tall this close, broad enough to block out half your room, and he’s holding your face like you might bruise if he moves wrong.
“I’m not crying over him,” you say, and your voice comes out quieter, “I think I’m crying because I want someone else.”
His hand stays against your cheek, but his thumb stops moving entirely. He has no immediate answer right now, no dry comment waiting in the back of his throat, no clever way to make the moment smaller than it feels. He just looks at you, like he heard you perfectly and still needs another second for it to reach the rest of him.
He shifts closer, but only slightly, careful enough that you notice the restraint. “Are you sure?”
You let out a tiny, breathless laugh. “Yes.”
Then your gaze drops from his eyes, not because you’re embarrassed exactly, but because looking at him straight on feels like standing too close to something bright. Your eyes settle on his chest instead, on the front of his hoodie rising and falling with a breath he’s clearly trying to control. His hands move from your cheeks, careful and slow, until his palms settle just beneath your jaw while his fingers slip behind your ears, curling gently at the back of your neck.
For a second, you think he’s going to kiss you.
Actually, you know he is. You can feel it in the way his breathing changes, in the way his eyes drop to your mouth and stay there this time, no pretending it was an accident. He’s close enough that you can smell his cologne and whatever terrible decision-making brought him to your window.
Then something in you panics — not because you don’t want him to.
That’s the problem. You want him so much it feels insulting to every sensible part of your life (even though you’ve made many irrational choices that have shamed them anyway). You want him in your room, in your space, in the middle of all the pretty, curated pieces of yourself nobody else gets to see messy. You want him, and it would be so easy to lean up and let that be the answer. But there is still one stupid, technical, irritating thing standing between you and that, so you pull back a little.
He freezes immediately, hands dropping like he thinks he did something wrong. “What?”
“I need to do something.”
His brows pull together. “Right now?”
You turn away before you can lose your nerve, moving toward your bed where your phone is half-buried in the sheets. Your hands are unsteady when you pick it up, which is annoying because you are not the kind of girl who fumbles — you are the kind of girl who answers essay questions with proper structure, corrects formations instinctively, and pretends she’s fine so convincingly that people believe it until it becomes inconvenient not to.
Calling your boyfriend while Riki Nishimura stands in your bedroom after midnight is, admittedly, not your most elegant moment, but there’s a kind of clarity to it too.
He stays behind you, quiet, watching as you scroll to the contact you have ignored for most of the night. His name on your screen looks strange now.
The call rings twice.
Riki moves closer, though not touching you yet, just behind your shoulder, close enough that you can feel the heat of him. It makes focusing much harder, which is extremely inconsiderate for someone who climbed into your room to be supportive.
Your boyfriend answers with your name, voice already irritated. “It’s late. I’m busy.”
You close your eyes for half a second. “I’m just letting you know. We’re done.”
There is a pause. “What?”
You swallow, your grip tightening around the phone. “I’m breaking up with you.”
Behind you, Riki goes very still. Your boyfriend lets out a humorless laugh. “Are you serious right now?”
“Yes.”
“After everything? After tonight, you’re just gonna call me and say that?”
You stare at the wall in front of you. It’s absurd, actually, how little the anger reaches you. Maybe you should be shaking or crying harder or preparing a speech that starts with all the ways he hurt you — instead, you feel strangely calm.
He starts talking again, louder this time, something about your parents, his parents, how you’re overreacting, how you both agreed, how you don’t get to act innocent either. Until Riki’s hand appears beside you, and he takes the phone from your hand.
Your eyes widen. “Riki.”
He looks at the screen, hears your boyfriend still talking, then tosses the phone onto the bed, where it lands face-up against the sheets, the call still running, your boyfriend’s voice now small and furious through the speaker.
“What are you doing?” you whisper.
His eyes stay on yours. “You already broke up with him.”
On the bed, your ex says your name again, sharp and confused, but neither of you are looking at the phone.
Riki lifts one hand, not touching your face yet, just brushing his knuckles lightly near your jaw like he’s giving you one last chance to move away.
That is all he needs before he kisses you. It is not rushed, not messy from panic, just a little harsh from jealousy. But it’s slow enough to make your knees feel unreliable, steady enough that your whole body seems to understand before your brain does. You grab the front of his hoodie and he exhales against your mouth, the sound going straight through you. His hand settles at the side of your neck, thumb brushing under your jaw while his other hand finds your waist, careful but sure.
The phone is still there, your boyfriend is still talking. It should ruin the moment, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes the whole thing feel worse in the way your heart is pounding too hard, in the way Riki keeps kissing you like he’s trying not to prove a point and failing anyway, in the way you know this is a terrible way to end a relationship and still cannot bring yourself to care.
Riki pulls back just enough to breathe, forehead almost touching yours. “He talks a lot,” he says quietly.
You laugh before you can stop yourself, and he kisses you before you can even finish a thought he physically cannot hear another word about your boyfriend tonight, earning a gasp from your mouth. It’s soft at first, his mouth catching yours that makes you go still for half a second, surprised, and then your hand tightens around his wrist as you kiss him back. He exhales through his nose, quiet and shaky, and his fingers press a little more firmly into your nape, not pulling you in too hard, just holding you.
You make this soft startled sound against his lips and he swears it nearly kills him on impact. When he pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead bumps lightly against yours.
“I don’t wanna talk about him anymore,” he says quietly.
His voice comes out rougher than before. You stare at him for a second, and your lips twitch.
“Okay,” you whisper.
He kisses you again almost immediately, and this time you kiss him back just as fast, your chests pressing against one another until you can feel the rapid beat of his heart through his hoodie. His hands find your waist, the weight of them warm and steady through the thin fabric of your dress, like he’s grounding you and keeping himself grounded too.
You tilt your head up to meet him properly, rising slightly onto your toes without meaning to, and he bends down into you like the movement pulls something out of him. His fingers press carefully at your sides, thumbs shifting once against your waist. The kiss deepens then, your hand sliding up the front of his hoodie until you’re holding onto him too.
Riki exhales against your mouth, almost shaky, and his grip tightens for one second before he loosens it again, like he’s reminding himself to be careful.
Without so much as a few words, your gaze meets his. But that’s not enough for him, not when he needs to hear that you want this too. The zipper you struggled with earlier starts undoing when his hand finds the back, before he leans in just enough for his voice to drop between you.
"Words, baby," he whispers.
He isn't teasing now. His voice is low, but careful, like he needs to hear you say it before he lets himself want anything more.
You swallow, fingers tightening lightly in his hoodie. "I want you."
Riki watches your face for a second, and when he sees the true genuineness and want in your eyes, he lets himself have it. He dips down to your height, capturing your lips in a kiss again, before fully pulling the zipper down to the small of your back. With barely any effort, the dress slides off your body and pools around your feet on the floor.
Too busy getting drunk on his plump lips, you don’t even notice his hands roaming over your skin, his fingertips memorizing the arch of your spine, before gliding up to the curve of your ribcage. You don’t notice how close he really is until his fingers find the underside part of your breasts. You pull away with a gasp, seeing him smile coyly when you finally realize you’re naked in front of him, and how he’s massaging your mounds in his hands.
He lets his thumbs brush your hardened nipples, watching your face scrunch and melt with fluster. He holds you so well, heat rushing all over your skin with the way he studies your body, eyes carefully taking in every detail about you. He continues stroking your nipples and massaging your breasts when he bends down again, kissing the corner of your lips before trailing over to your jaw. He presses open mouthed kisses on your pulse next, sucking and biting to leave love bites there.
You moan, all breathy and heavy, and his cock twitches in his sweats. For a man that’s been so cautious with you, he can’t help but fight the urge to pound into you recklessly right now.
“On the bed,” he prompts softly, taking a step forward.
You obey with no fight, pathetically stepping backward until you sit back on the soft mattress. You adjust a little to get on your knees, eyes finding his through your lashes again. He’s looking at you with half-open lids, hand already reaching up to the back of your head, fingers tangling with your hair. He likes you like this, on your knees and your face so fucking close to his bulge, he can practically see it.
And because he has been so kind to you, you want to recompense for all of it. Your fingers hook at the hem of his sweatpants, keeping your gaze steady on his face to watch the way he reacts when he realizes what you’re about to do. You drag his pants down, enough for it to slip down his legs.
His cock bulges in his briefs, begging to be set free. You cup it gently and he lets out a low moan, deeper than his usual, and when you look up, he’s just watching you. You lean in, only to lick a stripe from the bottom to top — his grip on your hair tightens, and you feel him pull you closer. Since you both don’t hold any godly kind of willpower, you waste no time lowering the fabric.
Riki’s stupidly long cock springs forward once you remove his briefs, and everything about it just makes sense. It isn’t excessively thick in girth, but it’s length makes you wonder if it can even fit at all. It’s pale at the base and turns pink towards the tip, the slit lathered with pre all over the head, all for you.
You bite your lip, not being able to help the thrilled grin on your face, eyes bright at the sight of it. He clears his throat, caressing the back of your head gently. “You good?”
You snicker, reaching up to wrap your hand around the base. He chokes out a gasp, stilling completely yet his hips buck forward. He watches you handle him so delicately, even the way you start pumping his dick, watching the way pre-cum leaks out the tip. You lean forward, tongue flat against the head, tasting him.
“O-oh, s-shit —” his breathing becomes heavy, arm flexing involuntarily as he keeps rubbing the back of your head.
You giggle, tilting your head a little to press soft pecks all over his length. “Watch me, sweet boy. Okay?”
You’re a fucking tease. That’s all he manages to come up with before his brain completely blanks out when you tilt forward and let your mouth close around the head of his dick. You start to suckle on it, tongue playing with the slit a little. Then you push forward, enough the tip touches the back of your throat and your cheeks hollow around his length.
And he’s still too fucking long.
You start choking a little, tears touching your waterline. You stroke the part you can’t reach, and he can’t help but smirk arrogantly.
Heavy breaths turns into deep groans, trying to keep his sounds to himself but the way you look as your head bobs on his dick, practically choking as you suck on it, and his hand flexing a tight grip on your hair — this has got to be better than any fucking narcotic ever. He bets morphine won’t ever feel this good. “Y-you’re fucking sublime, baby,”
You retract your mouth, going back to suckle on the tip, before taking him all back down your throat. His hips jerk forward, you can tell just how gentle he’s trying to be even when he’s losing all control.
And it’s too good, because twenty years of chastity has started to reach him faster than the way you rub him. He feels his abdomen tighten, and fuck does his balls feel tense. So as any illogical, preposterous, unsound idiot ever, he pulls you away from his cock. He holds you by your hair, slowing you down as you stare up at him, eyes wide and confused, lips wet from your saliva and his fluids.
“What the fuck?” you mutter, catching your breaths.
Riki licks his bottom lip, and you can see every restraint holding him back from breaking you. The tips of his ears are red, and his eyes, once so tender and meticulous, looks down at you like he just can’t wait to fuck you senseless. They’re sharper than they ever have been, and once since this night began, you’re scared.
“Easy,” he drawls, hand withdrawing from you completely. He takes a step back, just enough to admire the way you look, panting and on your knees, breasts exposed and perky. Then with a small smirk, he pinches the edge of his hoodie. “You always this impatient?”
He slides the hoodie over his arms, the cloth revealing flesh that practically glow from your vanity lights. His chest and shoulder width is broad and wide, flat in that boyish way you love, expanding to the chiseled arms. You can feel yourself salivating at the muscles, at his taut abs, delicate grooves that trace down to a sharp v-line. Even his obliques and traps are so defined.
“Get on your back.” he rasps, and you don’t let yourself react before lying down, head against your soft pillows. He kneels in between your legs, eyes trailing over your body. He hooks his fingers over the elastic of your panties, just before he slowly pulls them off you, slow enough to make you embarrassed.
“Riki,” you murmur sheepishly, but he ignores you, keeping his eyes narrowed to the way your cunt glistens, your own fluids leaking out of you. She’s perfect, and his already frustrated cock twitches.
Blonde hair sticks to his forehead, and his eyes are dark when your gaze meets again. He hovers over you, caging you against the bed before he leans in, kissing you again. Your lips part for him, breaths mingling, getting hot and heavy as his hand finds your ass. He squeezes the fat there, fingers digging into your skin. “You’re making it hard to think, pretty girl.”
You manage a giggle, though it quickly turns to soft moans when he kisses your jaw and presses his cock against your cunt.
“Riki, please,” you can see how swollen his cock has gotten.
“I don’t know if I can be gentle,” he breathes, his arms tensing as he keeps himself up. He strokes himself a bit, just before he aligns the tip with your aching hole.
Your brain has gone hazy, not being able to process anything other than the way he kisses your neck when the head of his cock pushes through your folds, and immediately your arms come to his back, nails digging into his muscles. He tenses too, giving a sharp exhale when his length slides past the tight muscle and rubs against your gummy walls.
“Fuck,” he groans, burying his face against your neck while your teeth bite down your bottom lip. “G-god, that’s so good,”
His hips closes against your pelvis, while his tip brushes against your cervix so good he’s pretty sure you’re sucking him in. And you feel stuffed, more than you ever have been, by Riki’s long cock. “Good fucking pussy, shit —”
Your legs are open wide for him, pressing flat against the mattress. And that’s enough for him, just to see you so spread beneath him, cunt squeezing him so tight; enough for him to pull back and watch the way your fluids wrap slick around his cock. Your hips wiggle for him, and that’s all he takes before slamming his hips back into you.
Riki’s jaw hangs open, a low moan gushing out him, strained and heavy into your ears.
“R-Riki — f-f-fuck —”
The sounds of squelching pussy and skin slapping echoes throughout your entire room, walls so tight around his cock as you gasp. The pace is set already, quick and fucking drilling into you even though you’ve known him for his care and caution — yet he pounds into you like he doesn’t give a fuck about anything but his pleasure.
“S-s-so good — ugh, Riki — fuck,” you scratch his back muscles, tensing underneath your nails. His pelvis and abs are tight, slamming himself so hard against your cunt like he can’t keep himself apart from you.
He continues groaning, his eyebrows furrowed, eyes half-lidded watching you, completely fucked out while he admires the way your tits bounce every time he rocks his dick deep into your cunt. His lips part to moan your name, and you love how he almost whimpers when you squeeze around him.
Then he stills, though only fast enough before he slides an arm beneath your waist and gathers you closer, like he’s scooping you into him without fully lifting you.
“W-what are you —”
“On your stomach.”
You can only blink and nod, before turning around, suddenly feeling empty when his dick slips from inside you. You settle on your hands and knees, then lie on your chest, face pressed to the soft pillow. “Fuck, my good girl.”
You can’t see him anymore, and you’re not sure with how you feel about it — not until you feel his warm body press against your back, his chest hovering slightly over you. He presses a hand on the back of your thigh, gently adjusting your knee higher, the position immediately spreading your folds more than you would have thought.
“Lift your hips for me, baby,” he breathes, voice low and strained.
You obey, pussy clenching around nothing when he whispers quiet praises as your ass perks up and your folds glisten for him again, slick oozing out from you. You get on your hands a little, just enough to lift yourself and look over your shoulder. Without much of a warning, he pushes his cock back deep inside you again, walls welcoming him with a dirty squelch, your breath catches, then escapes in a quiet gasp.
“There, just like that —” Riki moans, his v-line pressed tight against your ass.
Then he continues, retracting his hips only to slap back inside you. The new positions doing fucking wonders to you, stretching you a whole lot more, his dick fucking you so raw that you can’t help the screams you let out. He presses his hands against your waist, fingers ingrained to lift your ass up and pound into you right after, grip so tight it’s already bruising.
You fuck yourself against him too, slapping back against his hips, cock choking in your tight walls. His eyes are almost rolling back, if not for how obsessed he is watching your ass shake and tits bounce every sloppy stroke, his hand sliding under you to grope your mound. He fondles with it, pinching your nipple and loving the weight of it against his palm.
Sweat’s getting hot and the air’s smells too much of sex, he can feel it when his balls clench and how desperate he’s starting to get.
You look over your shoulder and he meets you halfway, leaning over to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. It’s full of saliva and it’s warm, messy in a way that tells how close you both are.
Then with so little strength (can’t compare to Riki Nishimura, really), your weight falls back to the pillow, face and chest pressed against the softness while your ass stays up. If not for his large hands keeping you up and still, you would’ve fallen over completely.
Your abdomen clenches and pressure builds in there, and he continues rutting into you while you become a puddle of sweat and moans. “R-right there — fuck, Riki — !”
“I-I’m gonna fucking cum, s-shit – I’ll blow a fucking load in you —” his hips drive into your pussy with a new kind of intensity, faster and deeper somehow, his tip hitting your cervix that has you throbbing around him.
“Cum all over me, baby, please —” he whines, face pressed against your shoulder.
You feel hot spurts of him fill you the same time your cunt clenches around him one final time, legs twitching while his hips come to a stutter. Cum settles in your hole, warm and full and sticky and practically seeping out of you. He collapses on top of you, unconsciously maybe, his heavier weight pressing over your body.
Your vision goes white for a bit, then it comes back, only for you to see hair all over your face, stuck with sweat and saliva. He’s still on top of you, but you can feel him carry himself a little, making sure not to crush you right after cumming in you.
Quiet beats stretch out the moment, and you don’t even notice his arm tucking underneath you to massage your tit, a tired laugh leaving your mouth when you do. When you both muster enough strength, he straightens just enough to lift himself off of you, while you manage to get on your hands. By the time you look over your shoulder, he’s already leaning in, his mouth finding yours again, a hand still fondling with your breast.
“Riki,” a small sheepish smile curves on your lips, all while he presses soft pecks against your mouth and jaw.
“Hm?” he hums, tired and spent, clearly having nothing else to do but to kiss you. His breaths are still shallow, eyelids heavy before shutting completely.
You giggle, putting your hand over his on your breast. “Get off me,” you say with a playful grin. “You’re so heavy!”
WIth a quiet groan, he listens. He slides out of you, unplugging you to let your fluids out. Then he lies down, and he hasn’t realized how strained his muscles are until he sinks into the softness of your bed. He relaxes inevitably, while you stay up just to admire him for a bit.
Riki Nishimura is never going to be insecure about his looks, but the way you stare at him with dilated pupils that match his, especially post-sex, he can’t help but grow a bit bashful.
He huffs out a laugh, one hand reaching out to squeeze your waist because you feel so far. "So do you have a no-cuddle policy, or," he murmurs.
You laugh before you can stop yourself because he's so stupidly funny for someone trying to sound serious. Instead of answering, you shake your head and lean more of your weight against one hand, the other resting against his chest as your fingers trace lazy, thoughtless shapes.
He watches you do it for a second, his expression going quiet in that way that makes your stomach turn. Then you glance up at him. "Can you roll one for me?"
He sighs so heavily it almost sounds personal. Before you can even react, his arm hooks around your waist and pulls you down against his chest, firm and immediate, like the idea alone offended him. Your hand lands against his abs to catch yourself, your cheek nearly brushing his shoulder as he keeps you there.
“Throw that shit away,” he says, voice low near your ear. “I swear to God.”
You blink, caught against him. “What?” His arm stays around you, warm and unmoving. “Why?”
Riki looks at you with half-lidded eyes, sleepy and a little strained, like even answering takes effort. “Because,” he murmurs, his grip softening at your waist, “after tonight, I think I found something better.”
Your jaw actually falls open. For one second, all you can do is stare at him, because there’s no way Riki Nishimura just said that to you while looking half-asleep and impossibly calm, like he didn’t just say something that made your entire stomach turn over and tighten all over again.
Then you smack his chest lightly. “Riki.”
He chuckles, low and tired, the sound vibrating against your palm. His arm stays around your waist, keeping you close even when you try to lean back enough to glare at him properly.
“What?” he murmurs, eyes barely opening more. “Use my dick instead, I won’t get mad.”
You smack his chest harder, earning a yelp from him. “Riki!”
He laughs under his breath, but before you can pull your hand back, his fingers wrap around your wrist. His eyes open a little more as he looks at you, still tired, still amused, and then he tugs you.
You land over him, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips as his arm settles around your waist to steady you. For a second, neither of you moves. Your hand stays pressed to his chest, his heartbeat is faster than he's pretending. "Careful," he murmurs, like he wasn't the one who pulled you.
"You're so annoying," you whisper again, but it comes out softer this time, a quiet breath as you lean down to him. You're close enough now that your noses brush, close enough to feel his smile fade against your mouth.
Riki's gaze drops to your lips, then back to your eyes. Your fingers stay flat against the broad hardness of his chest while his hand stays warm at your waist, slowly smoothing over the curve of your ass.
“Ride me?” he whispers against your lips.
You sigh, rolling your eyes while your mouth curves to a grin, back straightening. You act like you think about it, only for your exposed cunt to start grinding against his cock — which, obviously, because he is a very simple man, erects again.
A simple man such as he, all he knows is that he is yours.
in which ° jungwon, your stalker finally manages to get you after a while.
warning ° smut (mdni 18+), implied unprotected sex, kind of dark romance, stalker x stalked, stalking, oral (f.rec), extreme power play, reader is refered to as (y/n) if theres anything else lmk!!
taglist ° @ikeuscape @simjaeyunslut open!!
🫧 claudias whisper ° i was supposed to release another heeseung fic but its too late now, ive been saving this one for a while and its kind of dark but wtv, request are open!!
The morning rush at the local cafe was a blur of steam and chatter, but for Jungwon, the world had narrowed down to a single point: you. He had watched you from the shadows for months, memorizing the way you tilted your head when you laughed and the exact scent of your vanilla perfume.
He had designed your meeting with deep precision, positioning himself exactly where you would have to pass.
The collision was sudden. A gasp escaped your lips as your latte tipped, a warm, brown wave splashing violently across the front of Jungwon’s white shirt and tie.
"Oh my god! I am so, so sorry!" you muttered, your eyes wide with genuine horror as you stared at his shirt. You began frantically dabbing at his chest with a handful of napkins, your hands pressing gently against his chest.
Jungwon looked down at you, a small, practiced smile playing on his lips, though his eyes remained dark and predatory. The touch of your skin, even through the fabric, sent a jolt of possessiveness through him.
"It's alright," he murmured, his voice a smooth, low velvet that seemed to vibrate in the air between you. "It was an accident."
You both laughed, a nervous, fluttering sound that broke the tension. You looked up at him, struck by the intensity of his gaze. There was something about him—a power, a confidence that felt almost overwhelming.
"I feel terrible," you mumbled, biting your lip. "I live just around the corner. Please, let me make it up to you. I can help you get the stain out properly before it sets. My place is right there."
Jungwon’s heart hammered against his ribs. This was what he had been waiting for.
"Well, since its just around the corner," he replied, his voice dripping with a charm that masked the hunger clawing at his insides.
The moment the door to your apartment clicked shut, the atmosphere shifted. The playful energy of the coffee shop vanished, replaced by a thick, heavy tension.
As you led him toward the bathroom, Jungwon followed behind. He stepped closer, his presence suddenly filling the doorway, crowding you into the bathroom.
"You're very kind, (y/n)," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he reached into a cupboard. He didn't mention that he already knew your name, or that he knew exactly where you kept your spare towels.
You shivered, your breath hitching. The way he said your name felt different. "I... I just want to help," you stammered, though you didn't move away. Instead, you leaned into him, your body betraying you as you craved the heat radiating off him.
Jungwon didn't waste another second. He pulled you closer, his hands gripping your waist with a strength that bordered on bruising. He kissed you with a raw, starving urgency, his tongue invading your mouth as if he were claiming territory.
You moaned into the kiss, your hands clutching at his shoulders, your mind swirling with a sudden, desperate need to be dominated by him.
He guided you toward the bedroom, his movements efficient and commanding. With a sudden, fluid motion, he pushed you onto the bed. Before you could process the shift, he pulled off his silk tie. The one he had worn specifically for this day.
With a calm, terrifying confidence, he pulled your wrists and tied them tightly to the headboard.
"What are you—" you started, but the fear was eclipsed by a surge of heat between your thighs. The feeling of being trapped, of being completely at his mercy, unlocked a feeling inside you that you hadn't known existed.
"Shh," Jungwon whispered soothingly against your skin, his voice lowering. "You invited me in. Now, you belong to me."
Carefully, he peeled off your clothes, his tongue following closely behind as he stripped you. Then, while unbuttoning his pants, he dropped to in between your legs, coming face to face with your glistening pussy.
He pressed kisses around the sensitive entrance, teasing you as his hips bucked up into your hand. "Dadd- Jungwon-" you whimpered, desperately thrashing against the tie.
Jungwon pulled away from your pussy, looking up at you between your thighs before he spoke, "Call me that again."
"But-" you protested.
"Call me that again or you wont get anything," he stated firmly, hands gliding over your thighs as you nodded.
Satisfied, Jungwon dipped between your legs once again. However this time going straight in and licking a broad stripe across your wetness.
You let out a loud moan, back arching off the bed as you pushed up into his mouth, "Jungwon-"
He shook his head, pulling back ever so slightly so that his nose was barely an inch away from your cunt, "Try again."
"Daddy," you whined, the cold air hitting your ready oversensitive pussy, "please.."
"Thats my good girl," Jungwon smirked as he dove back in, licking up all your juices and pushing his tongue inside your hole.
You let out a series of high pitched moans and whimpers, still thrashing in the silk tie that had been wrapped so tightly around your wrists.
After a long time, Jungwon had managed to make you cum, and had licked it all up with no problem at all.
Pushing up on his elbows, Jungwon crawled over your body, settling his weight over you as he leaned down and kissed you again. You could taste yourself on his tongue, the saltiness mixing with the heat and intensity of the kiss.
Slowly, he rubbed his thick cock against your slit, pushing back and forth until he couldn't take the arousal anymore and pushed inside of you.
When he finally entered, you let out a guttural scream, back arching off the bed as you squeezed your eyes shut.
He fucked you with a punishing force, his hands pinning your hips down, ensuring you felt every inch of his cock stretching you open.
"Tell me you want this," he growled, his teeth grazing your neck. "Tell me you want to be mine."
"Yes! Please, yes!" you sobbed, your back arching, your bound wrists straining against the silk. You surrendered completely, losing yourself in the overwhelming sensation of his control, your pussy clamping tight around his cock as you spiraled into your second orgasm.
Jungwon followed shortly after, filling you deep with a hot, salty load of his cum, his forehead resting against yours as you both gasped for air.
Hours later, the morning light filtered through the curtains. You woke up entwined in Jungwon’s arms, the scent of him embedded in your skin.
The memory of the coffee shop, the strangeness of the encounter, and the flicker of fear you had felt were gone, washed away by a profound sense of belonging.
You didn't question why he felt so familiar or why the idea of him never leaving felt like the only thing that mattered. You simply pressed closer to him, sinking into the comfort of your new cage.
৻ꪆ SUMMARY : Riki spends all day driving you insane just to see how long you can hold out, and he’s more than ready to collect his reward the second you break.
Riki had been testing your patience since the second your alarm went off, treating your busy, high stress day like his own personal playground.
It wasn't even big things, it was the quiet, deliberate way he completely ignored basic requests just to see your jaw clench. When you asked him to move his stuff so you could actually work, he just gave you a low, lazy “make me” without looking up.
When you were on a deadline, running around trying to get shit done, he was right there in the way, stealing the exact spot you needed to sit, casually changing the speaker volume when you were trying to concentrate, or giving you a blank, amused stare when you specifically asked him to do one simple thing.
To him, it was all a game. To you, with your stress already hitting the ceiling, it was suffocating.
And whenever he was close enough to reach out, it was purely to throw off your focus—a sudden, heavy hand resting on the nape of your neck while you were pacing, or grabbing your wrist just long enough to pull you back against his chest before letting you go with that infuriating, knowing smirk. He knew you were at your limit, and instead of giving you space, he leaned right into the chaos.
You had spent the entire day biting your tongue, swallowing every sharp retort, and fighting a losing battle against the heat and frustration rising under your skin. You were determined not to give him the satisfaction of losing your cool. Because the second you snapped, you knew you’d be playing right into his hands.
He was starving you out, patiently waiting for the exact second your resolve crumbled.
By the time the sun’s gone down and the apartment is quiet, you’re in the bedroom, arms crossed, scrolling on your phone like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Riki’s stretched out on the bed behind you, shirtless, grey sweats slung low. You can feel his stare burning into your back.
“Baby,” he drawls, voice low and lazy. “You still mad?”
You don’t answer. Your thumb keeps scrolling even though the words on the screen stopped registering minutes ago. He chuckles softly, the sound rumbling through the quiet room.
“Cute. Keep pouting then. See how long that lasts.”
You bite the inside of your cheek hard. You want to give in so bad. God, it’s embarrassing how close you are to snapping. Hours of his little touches—fingers brushing your waist, breath against your neck, that stupid smirk—have left you throbbing. But you refuse to break. Not after the shit he pulled today.
Minutes tick by. The bed creaks. Then his long fingers wrap around your ankle and tug.
“Come here.”
You yank your leg back. “No.”
He moves faster than you expect. One second you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, the next he’s got you flipped onto your back, wrists pinned above your head in one hand. Riki looms over you, his eyes gleaming with that predatory patience he’s been holding all day.
“You’ve been wet for hours, haven’t you?” he murmurs, knee sliding between your thighs to press right against your core. “Fighting so hard not to crawl to me. So fucking stubborn.”
You glare up at him, cheeks burning. “You were being an ass.”
“Yeah?” He grinds his knee slowly, deliberately. “And now you’re soaked through your shorts because I was an ass. Cute.”
You try to twist free. He’s too strong. His body covers yours completely, broad shoulders and long limbs trapping you beneath him. He leans down, lips brushing your ear.
“You held out longer than I thought you would,” he murmurs. “But you’re done now.”
He kisses you hard, tongue pushing in like he owns you. You whimper into his mouth, hips jerking against his thigh despite yourself. When he pulls back, you’re panting.
“On your knees.”
You hesitate, clinging to the last scrap of defiance. His eyes darken. In a flash he flips you onto your stomach, yanks your shorts and panties down your legs, and brings his palm down sharply on your ass. The smack echoes. Heat blooms across your skin.
You yelp.
“I said on your knees.”
This time you obey, sliding off the bed to kneel between his spread legs. He pushes his sweats down just enough, freeing his cock. It’s thick and heavy, flushed dark at the tip and already leaking. Your mouth waters.
He tucks two fingers under your chin, tilting your face up. “You’re gonna suck me nice and slow. Show me how much you missed me while you were ignoring me all day.”
You lean forward and lick a long stripe up the underside before wrapping your lips around the head. Riki groans.
You take him deeper, working your tongue along his length while your hand strokes what you can’t fit. He’s big enough that your jaw aches in the best way after only a few moments, but you keep going—hollowing your cheeks, sucking harder, letting saliva drip down your chin.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he hisses, head tipping back. “Look at you. So mad but still choking on my cock like a good little slut.”
You moan around him, the vibration making his hips twitch. He guides you a little faster, hitting the back of your throat until your eyes water. Just when his thighs start to tense, he pulls you off with a wet pop and wipes the corner of your mouth with his thumb.
“Not yet. Get on the bed.”
He lies back fully and tugs you up the bed until you’re hovering over his face. Your thighs tremble.
“Riki—”
He smacks your ass again, harder. “Sit.”
Your face heats, but the look in his eyes tells you there’s no arguing with him. You lower yourself slowly. The first swipe of his tongue drags a broken moan from your throat. He grips your hips with both hands and pulls you down harder, licking broad and hungry over your folds before focusing on your clit. His tongue circles, flicks, then pushes inside you, relentless. You brace your hands on the headboard, hips rocking as pleasure coils tighter and tighter.
He doesn’t let you ease up. Every time you try to hover he yanks you back down, devouring you until your legs shake violently. You cum hard, crying out as waves crash over you. He keeps licking, drawing out a second, shakier orgasm that leaves you whimpering and oversensitive.
Only then does he lift you off, flipping you onto your back again. His face is shiny with your slick, lips swollen. He looks feral.
“Still mad?” he asks, lining himself up at your entrance.
You shake your head frantically. “No—Riki, please—”
He pushes in with one long, steady thrust. The stretch is intense. You feel every inch as he fills you completely, pressing against places that make your toes curl.
“Fuck, so tight,” he groans, bottoming out.
He starts moving—deep, punishing strokes that make the bed creak. Every thrust punches the air out of your lungs. You claw at his back, legs wrapped around his waist.
When your moans get too loud he flips you onto all fours, one hand fisting in your hair while the other delivers a series of sharp, stinging spanks to your ass. The burn mixes perfectly with the pleasure, making you push back onto him desperately.
“Look at you,” he rasps, slamming in harder. “So fucking needy after pretending to hate me all day.”
He reaches around to rub tight circles on your clit and you shatter again, clenching around his cock. He doesn’t slow down. He fucks you through it, dragging out the high until tears slip down your cheeks and every thrust borders on too much.
“Riki—too much—”
“You can take it.” He grabs your hips, slamming in harder. “You’re gonna take every fucking inch until I fill you up.”
You do—shaking and sobbing as another orgasm rips through you. His pace turns erratic, hips snapping against your reddened ass.
“Tell me you want it,” he demands, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
You nod desperately, clutching at the sheets. “Please—yes, please—”
With a low moan, he buries himself deep and cums. You feel every pulse, every hot spurt as he fills you. When he finally stills, he doesn’t pull out right away. Just stays there, grinding lazily, pushing himself deeper.
You collapse onto the bed, trembling. Riki follows, careful not to crush you, and gently pulls out. The loss makes you whimper.
“Shh, I got you,” he murmurs, his tone instantly softening. He gathers you against his chest, hands stroking down your back, kissing your damp forehead.
“You okay, baby?”
You nod, too exhausted to form actual words. “Mhm.”
He chuckles softly, carefully easing himself away from you and slipping out of bed. You hear the soft hum of the bathroom sink before he returns a moment later with a warm, damp cloth. His touch is gentle now, wiping between your legs, kissing every mark he left on your ass and hips.
“I’m sorry for being an ass today,” he whispers against your hair, his voice quiet and genuine. “I missed you.”
You huff, though you can’t hide the small smile creeping up against his chest as you wrap an arm over his waist. “You’re still an asshole. But I missed you too.”
“And you’re still my brat,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head. “Get some sleep. I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow to make it up to you. Deal?”
You smile despite yourself, already drifting off in his arms, sore, full, and completely satisfied.
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!!!
৻ꪆ SYNOPSIS : Accidentally walking in on Riki fresh out of the shower leaves an unforgettable image burned into your mind, shattering the easy boundary you both spent months building. Despite a mutual pact to never speak of it again, weeks of tension, lingering glances, and unspoken feelings finally pushes both of you to a boiling point. When the careful walls you’ve built finally crumble, you both learn that some boundaries are meant to be crossed.
The late morning sun is already warm where it cuts through the gaps in your blinds, casting bright, dusty blocks of light across your blanket. You blink sleepily at your phone.
11:14 AM.
You groan, burying your face back into the pillow. Waking up this late always leaves you in a strange, heavy limbo—not quite tired enough to go back to sleep, but too sluggish to immediately face the day.
For a few quiet minutes, you just lie there, listening to the ambient hum of the apartment. It’s quiet. Too quiet, which usually means your roommate, Riki, is either still dead to the world in his room or has already slipped out for the day.
Living with Riki was easy. He was a good roommate—clean enough, relatively quiet, and easy to get along with. You didn't harbor some secret, burning crush on him, your relationship was strictly, comfortably platonic.
Sure, you weren't blind. He was obviously attractive, and maybe once or twice after a few drinks, a random, passing thought about him had crossed your mind. But it was the kind of dumb, fleeting thought you laughed off the next morning and forgot about. He was just Riki.
A sudden, insistent ache in your bladder finally cuts through your cozy inertia. Dragging the duvet off your legs, you swing your feet onto the cool hardwood floor.
You’re still half entangled in sleep as you pad out of your bedroom. The hallway is quiet, the air smelling faintly of the coffee Riki must have brewed earlier. You rub your eyes, your vision still slightly blurred, focus completely set on the bathroom door at the end of the hall.
Normally, you’d check if the light was on beneath the crack, or listen for the heavy rush of the shower. But your brain is running on a five second delay, entirely fueled by the desperate need to pee, wash your face, and wake up. The door is closed, but not clicked shut—just resting against the frame.
You reach out, push it open, and take a step inside.
The first thing that hits you is the thick, heavy wall of steam. It’s warm, smelling strongly of sandalwood and clean soap.
The second thing—the thing that makes the air instantly trap itself in your lungs—is Riki.
He isn't standing at the sink brushing his teeth. He isn't wrapped in a towel. He’s standing right in the middle of the bathroom, fresh out of the shower, a towel hanging loosely from one hand as if he’d been just about to dry off.
He is completely, entirely bare.
For a long second, the world entirely halts. Your groggy brain tries to scramble backward, but your eyes lock onto him before you can even think to look away.
You’d always known he was tall, but seeing him like this—unclothed, the steam clinging to the broad expanse of his shoulders, the sharp, damp lines of his collarbones, and the lean definition of his chest—makes him look massive. Your gaze involuntarily drops, tracking the droplets of water tracing down the dip of his stomach, and then... everything else.
Those dumb, passing thoughts you'd had in the past didn't even come close to the reality. He is built. Far more than you ever could have anticipated. The clear reality of his body, the heavy proof of how big he actually is, burns itself behind your eyelids in an instant.
Riki freezes, his wet hair dripping onto his forehead, his eyes widening in absolute, startled shock.
The moment snaps.
"Oh my god!" The words tear from your throat, a breathless, high pitched squeak. "I'm sorry! I'm so, so sorry, I didn't—I thought you were—!"
Before he can even utters a sound, you grab the edge of the door, pull it shut, and slam it with a force that rattles the frame.
You press your back against the wood, sliding down slightly as your knees go weak. Your heart is hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird, your face so hot you’re certain you’re about to combust right there in the hallway. You press the cool palms of your hands to your burning cheeks, but it does nothing to cool the flush creeping down your neck.
You close your eyes, but it’s a mistake. The second you do, the image of him—shrouded in steam, dripping wet, and completely exposed—flashes vividly in your mind.
You squeeze your eyes tighter, trying to shake it off, but the memory feels branded to the back of your retinas. This wasn't some silly, half forgotten thought anymore. This was real, raw, and completely inescapable.
And as you sit there in the quiet hallway, listening to the hurried rustle of a towel from the other side of the door, a terrifying realization settles in your chest.
You are never, ever going to unsee that.
You scramble back to your room as quietly as possible, the sound of your own racing heartbeat muffled only by the soft click of your bedroom door closing behind you.
Once inside, you throw yourself onto your bed, burying your face in a pillow to let out a silent, frustrated scream. Your cheeks are still burning, and no matter how hard you blink, that vivid mental image of him refuses to fade.
Your phone sitting on the nightstand reads 11:22 AM.
Okay, you think, taking a deep, shaky breath. Strategy.
Riki has practice at the studio today. He always leaves around 1:00 PM. That means you only have to survive a little over an hour and a half. If you just stay put, keep the door shut, and pretend you suddenly went deaf and blind, you can escape the absolute mortification of looking him in the eye. It is the perfect plan.
But the silence of the apartment doesn’t last long.
Through the thin wood of your bedroom door, you hear the bathroom door finally click open. Soft, heavy footsteps pad down the hallway. He’s walking past your room. You freeze, holding your breath, staring intensely at the doorknob as if your gaze alone could lock it from the inside.
For a horrifying, agonizing three seconds, the footsteps pause right outside your door. Your stomach does a violent flip.
Is he going to knock? What do I even say?
But then, the footsteps start up again, moving toward the kitchen. You let out the breath you were holding in a long, shaky sigh, sinking back into your mattress.
As the minutes tick by, your mind refuses to cooperate. You try scrolling through your phone, but you can’t focus on a single post. Every time you hear a cabinet close or the fridge open in the kitchen, your brain betrays you.
How is he feeling right now?
Despite his cool, confident exterior, he can actually be pretty shy about certain things. You’ve just invaded his privacy in the worst way possible. Is he sitting out there feeling incredibly uncomfortable in his own home? Is he mad? Embarrassed?
The guilt starts to outweigh your own embarrassment. You can't just hide in your room like a coward and pretend nothing happened. You stepped over a boundary, even if it was a complete accident, and you need to actually apologize properly.
Decision made. Before you can lose your nerve, you slide off your bed, smooth down your messy t-shirt, and walk to the door.
Taking one last deep breath to steady your erratic pulse, you turn the knob and step out into the hallway.
Riki is standing by the kitchen island, a glass of water in his hand. He’s dressed now—baggy sweatpants and an oversized black hoodie—but seeing him clothed somehow doesn't help as much as you hoped it would. Your brain instantly fills in what’s underneath the fabric, making the heat rush straight back to your face.
The moment your footsteps hit the hardwood, Riki’s head snaps up.
He freezes, the glass halfway to his mouth. For a split second, a dark, fleeting rush of pink colors the tips of his ears, and he looks incredibly tense.
"Riki," you start, your voice a little breathier than you intended. You keep your hands clasped tightly in front of you, determined to do this right. "Hey. I just wanted to apologize. Properly."
He lowers the glass, clearing his throat, his eyes darting to the floor for a second before meeting yours. "Oh. You don't have to—"
"No, I do," you interrupt gently, wanting to get the words out before you choke on them. "I am so, so sorry. I was completely half asleep, and I didn't even check the light under the door. I really didn't mean to barge in on you like that. It was a total accident."
Riki shifts his weight, rubbing the back of his neck with a small, slightly sheepish shrug. "It's fine. Really. Just... a misunderstanding."
"I promise you," you continue, holding up a hand solemnly, "I’ll never, ever mention it again. It never happened. If you don't bring it up, I won't. Deal?"
A faint, relieved smile tugs at the corner of Riki's lips, though his ears are still burning a light dusty pink. He nods slowly. "Deal. It never happened."
"Okay. Good," you breathe, offering a quick, slightly tight smile.
You practically spin on your heel to head back to the safety of your room, feeling a massive weight lift off your chest.
Okay, you think as you shut your door again. We talked. We settled it. It’s over.
Except, as you lie back down on your bed, your eyes drift to the ceiling, and the image of his tall, lean, completely bare frame immediately flashes in your mind again.
You groan, burying your face in your hands. Setting a rule to never talk about it was easy.
Setting a rule to stop thinking about it was going to be entirely impossible.
The quiet hum of the apartment during the next few days becomes a strange, agonizing test of your acting skills.
In the immediate aftermath of that Sunday morning, the air feels charged with an unspoken tension, even if you are both doing your absolute best to pretend the entire incident had been wiped clean from existence.
True to your word, you don't bring it up. But the brain is a stubborn, treacherous thing, and the harder you try to actively not think about how good Riki looked standing in that steam filled room, the more your mind seems determined to remind you of it.
The first real hurdle comes on Monday evening.
You’re sitting at the kitchen island scrolling through your laptop, trying to focus on a design project, when you hear the front door unlock. Riki walks in, looking exhausted but effortlessly cool in a pair of oversized grey sweatpants and a worn out vintage tee.
"Hey," he murmurs, kicking off his shoes at the entryway. His voice is a low, hoarse rumble from a long day of practicing and recording at the studio.
"Hey," you reply, keeping your eyes glued to your screen, a little too intensely. "How was practice?"
"Long," he sighs, walking into the kitchen. He reaches past you to grab a glass from the cupboard, and for a split second, the faint, clean scent of his shower gel—the same sandalwood scented one from Sunday—wafts over you.
Your fingers freeze on your trackpad.
An involuntary flash of his damp, bare shoulders—the broad, solid lines of his chest dripping with water—blasts through your mind with the force of a freight train. You swallow hard, your throat suddenly feeling incredibly dry.
"You look tired," you force out, hoping your voice doesn't sound as tight as it feels. "Did you guys run the choreography again?"
"Yeah. Over and over," Riki says, leaning against the counter just a foot away from you. He takes a long sip of water, his throat bobbing as he drinks.
Your eyes betray you. You find yourself tracking the movement of his neck, then slowly letting your gaze slip down to his chest, even though it’s entirely hidden beneath the heavy cotton of his shirt. You know what’s under there now. You know the exact contours of his collarbones, the lean cut of his abs. The sheer size of him is no longer a mystery.
"Are you even listening?" Riki's voice, laced with a quiet, amused curiosity, cuts through your sudden daze.
You snap your eyes back up to his face, your heart doing a violent stutter. "What? Yeah! Yeah, of course. Choreography. Hard work."
Riki raises an eyebrow, a small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He doesn't press it, but the way his dark eyes linger on yours for a fraction of a second longer than usual makes your chest tighten.
He places his glass in the sink and heads off to his room with a soft, "Goodnight."
You slump over the counter, pressing your forehead against the cool surface. You are doing a terrible job at being normal.
By Wednesday, you think you’ve finally gotten a grip on yourself.
You’ve spent the last forty-eight hours actively distracting yourself, keeping busy with work, and keeping your interactions with Riki brief and friendly.
You’re close, you’ve lived together long enough to share inside jokes, order food for each other without asking, and comfortably co-exist in the same space. You don't want a stupid, accidental glance to ruin the easy, natural flow of your friendship.
You’re in the living room, curled up on the couch with a book, when Riki walks out of his room wearing a tight, sleeveless black compression shirt and loose athletic shorts, clearly getting ready to head back out to the studio.
The book in your hands suddenly feels like a prop.
His shoulders are incredibly broad, his biceps defined and taut as he reaches up to push his hair back. Seeing him in sleeveless shirts was never a big deal before, but now, your brain instantly connects the dots, filling in the rest of his frame with vivid, agonizing accuracy.
Stop it, you scream at yourself internally. He’s your roommate. He’s literally just going to work. Stop looking.
"Hey, do we have any of those energy drinks left in the fridge?" Riki asks, turning his head to look at you over his shoulder.
"Uh—yeah, I think there's one more on the bottom shelf," you squeak out, your voice cracking slightly at the end.
Riki pauses, his hands dropping from his hair as he gives you a puzzled look. "Are you okay? You sound like you just swallowed a bug."
"Perfect! I'm completely perfect," you say, a little too quickly, flipping a page of your book without actually reading a single word on it. "Just... dry throat. Air conditioning is strong today."
"Right," Riki says slowly, a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes. He walks into the kitchen, his long legs making quick work of the distance, and opens the fridge.
You let out a quiet, trembling breath, staring blankly at the text in front of you. You can't even remember what this chapter is about. All you can think about is how easily he commands the space in the apartment, how towering and solid he really is.
He comes back out, cracking open the black can of his energy drink, taking a slow sip as he watches you. He stands near the edge of the couch, looking down at you with a head tilt.
"You've been reading that same page for five minutes," he points out, his voice quiet, a teasing edge running through it.
"I'm a slow reader, Riki. It’s a very complex plot," you lie shamelessly, refusing to look up from the paper.
"Sure. Highly complex," he echoes. He lingers for another moment, his presence warm and overwhelming, before he grabs his gym bag from the entryway. "I'll be back late tonight. Don't wait up."
"I won't," you call out, only letting your shoulders drop once the front door clicks shut.
You throw the book onto the coffee table and groan, pulling a throw pillow over your face. This is torture. You’re hyper aware of him in a way you’ve never been before, and the worst part is, Riki is entirely too perceptive. If you keep this up, he’s going to realize exactly why you’re acting like a glitching robot.
Thursday afternoon is when the fragile facade you've built completely crumbles.
It’s a hot, humid day, and the apartment's AC is struggling to keep up. You’re sitting on the living room rug, sorting through some laundry you’d left on the drying rack, when Riki walks out of his room. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of loose grey basketball shorts, his chest and torso completely bare to combat the heat.
Your breath hitches.
You try to look away, you really do. You force your gaze down to a pair of folded socks in your hands, but your eyes keep dragging themselves back up to him.
He walks over to the kitchen to grab a bottle of cold water, his back completely exposed to you. You find yourself staring at the sharp, defined line of his spine, the way his shoulder blades move under his skin, and the tapered dip of his waist. It is exactly what you saw on Sunday, only this time, there is no steam to obscure the view.
He turns around, leaning his lower back against the kitchen counter as he twists the cap off the bottle. He catches you staring.
In a panic, your brain short circuits. You scramble for any excuse, any distraction to prove you weren't just ogling his body.
"You—you have a lint on your shoulder," you stammer, pointing vaguely in his direction.
Riki looks down at his bare, tanned shoulder, then back up at you, a slow, incredibly amused grin spreading across his face. "A lint? On my bare skin?"
You want the floor to open up and swallow you whole. Your face hot flashes, a deep, furious crimson spreading from your chest all the way to your ears.
"I mean—it was... it was a shadow! Or a bug. I thought it was a bug," you scramble, your voice rising in pitch as you wildly fold a t-shirt with trembling hands.
Riki chuckles, a low, vibration of a sound that makes your stomach do a series of complicated flips. He takes a slow sip of his water, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief as he watches you struggle.
"Right. A shadow bug," he says softly. He takes a few steps forward, stopping just a few feet away from where you’re sitting on the floor. He looks down at you, his chest expanding with a quiet breath. "You know, you've been acting really weird lately."
"I have not," you lie, your voice squeaking again.
"You have," Riki counters, his grin widening, showing a hint of his sharp teeth. He leans down slightly, resting his hands on his knees so he’s closer to your eye level.
"You barely look at me when I talk to you. You jump every time I walk into a room. What's going on in that head of yours?"
He tilts his head, his gaze intensely focused on yours. "Are you daydreaming about me or something?"
Your heart completely stops.
The terrifying accuracy of his tease catches you entirely off guard. A wild, desperate panic flares up in your chest. You need to laugh it off. You need to make him think it’s the most ridiculous joke he’s ever made, otherwise, he’ll know. He’ll know you haven't stopped thinking about his body for a single second.
"HA!"
The laugh tears out of your throat, incredibly loud, dry, and painfully awkward. It echoes off the living room walls, sounding entirely forced and completely unhinged.
"Daydreaming? About you? Oh my god, Riki, that is—HA!—the funniest thing I've ever heard in my life! Wow! You really have a great imagination!"
Your laugh is so loud your own ears ring, and you follow it up with a series of quick, choppy, breathless giggles that sound like a failing car engine. You pat your lap awkwardly, trying to look incredibly amused, but your eyes are wide with pure terror.
Riki’s grin slowly falters, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated amusement mixed with deep skepticism. He straightens back up to his full height, crossing his arms over his chest, which only makes his biceps flex, further distracting you.
"Okay," Riki says slowly, his voice dripping with playful disbelief. "That was definitely the most natural laugh I've ever heard."
"It was! I'm just... I'm a very expressive person," you sputter, desperately grabbing the pile of folded laundry and standing up. "Anyway! I have to put this away. In my room. Right now."
Before he can say another word, you practically sprint down the hallway, darting into your bedroom and shutting the door with a soft, desperate click.
You lean your head against the cool wood of the door, closing your eyes in absolute, crushing defeat.
Your facade is completely, utterly see through. He knows. Or, at the very least, he knows something is incredibly wrong. And as you stand there, trying to calm your racing pulse, you realize that the unspoken agreement to "never mention it" is rapidly falling apart.
By the time Friday evening rolls around, the air in the apartment is so thick with unspoken tension you could cut it with a knife. You’ve spent the last twenty-four hours practically plotting your movements around the apartment like a secret agent, checking corners and listening for footsteps before daring to leave your room. It is exhausting, unsustainable, and frankly, ridiculous.
You’re sitting on the living room sofa, staring blankly at a movie playing on the TV. You aren't actually watching it, your mind is too busy running in endless, unproductive circles.
The soft click of Riki’s bedroom door opening makes you stiffen automatically. You brace yourself, expecting him to walk straight to the kitchen or head out. Instead, his quiet, heavy footsteps pad directly toward the living room.
Without asking, he sinks onto the opposite end of the couch.
For a few minutes, neither of you says anything. The only sound is the low dialogue from the TV. You keep your eyes glued to the screen, your shoulders tense, counting the seconds.
From the corner of your eye, you can see him leaning back, his long legs stretched out in front of him, ankle crossed over ankle. He’s back in his favorite oversized black hoodie, looking completely relaxed, yet there’s a quiet determination in the way he keeps shifting his gaze from the screen to you.
Finally, Riki lets out a soft, slow sigh. He reaches over and grabs the remote from the coffee table, pressing the mute button. The sudden silence in the room makes your heart do a nervous little flutter.
"Okay," Riki says, his voice low and steady. He turns his body slightly on the cushions so he’s facing you. "We need to actually talk."
You swallow the lump in your throat, finally turning your head to look at him. "About... the movie? Because I agree, the pacing is a little—"
"About Sunday," he cuts in gently, though there’s a tiny, unmistakable twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips. "And about how you’ve been treating me like I’m a ghost haunting the apartment all week."
"I haven't been treating you like a ghost," you protest, though your voice lacks any real conviction. You pull your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them like a shield.
"You literally ran away from laundry yesterday," Riki points out, raising an eyebrow. "And your laugh? I'm pretty sure our neighbors thought you were having a medical emergency."
A hot flush rises to your cheeks, but along with the embarrassment, a tiny bubble of hysterical laughter threatens to break free.
"I was just... trying to keep my promise. I said I’d never mention it. I wanted to make sure you felt comfortable."
"I was comfortable," Riki says softly, his dark eyes softening as he looks at you. "Until my favorite roommate started treating me like a stranger. You don't have to walk on eggshells around me. We've lived together too long for a stupid accident to make things weird."
He pauses, rubbing the back of his neck, and for a second, a fleeting hint of pink colors his own cheekbones. "I mean... yeah, it was embarrassing. But it was just an accident. I’m not mad at you. And you don't have to hide in your room until one in the afternoon just to avoid looking at me."
Hearing him say it out loud instantly makes the heavy, suffocating weight on your chest begin to lift. You let out a long, shaky breath you feel like you’ve been holding since that day.
"Really?" you ask quietly, looking at him through your eyelashes. "You're not weirded out?"
"I'm not," Riki promises, offering you a genuine, reassuring smile. "Though, honestly, I think you're the one who's traumatized. You looked like you saw a monster."
"I didn't see a monster," you mumble, your face burning all over again as the memory of his very built, bare frame flashes in your mind. You quickly look down at your knees. "It was just a lot to take in at eleven in the morning."
Riki lets out a low, quiet chuckle, the sound warm and incredibly comforting. "Yeah? Well, next time, try knocking. Save us both the heart attack."
"I will. I'll knock three times. I'll send a text. I'll ring a bell," you say, a genuine smile finally breaking across your face. The lingering awkwardness between you is rapidly evaporating, replaced by the easy, comfortable rhythm you’ve always shared.
"Good," Riki grins, leaning his head back against the sofa cushion. He watches you for a moment, his eyes twinkling with that familiar, playful mischief. "Though, I gotta admit... the 'shadow bug on my shoulder' line? Truly inspired. You should write a book."
"Oh, shut up!" you laugh.
"And that laugh," he continues, completely ignoring your protests as he mimics your high pitched, panicked chuckle. "'HA! Daydreaming? About you?!' I'm hurt. Am I really that hard to imagine daydreaming about?"
"Riki, I swear to god," you warn, though you’re giggling now, the relief of being able to joke with him again washing over you like cool water.
"I'm just saying," he teases, a slow, incredibly charming smirk spreading across his handsome face. "If you were daydreaming, you at least have a very accurate reference point now."
"You are unbelievable!"
Without thinking, you grab the nearest plush throw pillow from beside you and hurl it straight at his head. Riki laughs out loud, raising his arms to block it, but the pillow hits him square in the chest anyway. He grabs it, clutching it to himself as he shakes his head, his shoulders shaking with genuine amusement.
"Okay, okay! Truce," he chuckles, tossing the pillow back onto the middle of the couch.
You lean back against the cushions, your heart rate elevated, but this time, it’s not from panic. It’s from laughing. The thick, suffocating wall of tension that had built up over the last five days has completely crumbled, leaving only the warm, cozy reality of the two of you sitting together on the couch.
You actually feel a hundred times better. Talking about it, laughing about it, it made everything feel normal again, rather than some forbidden, shameful secret.
But as you look over at Riki, who is still smiling, his eyes bright and relaxed as he watches you, a tiny, quiet spark flickers in the back of your mind. The awkwardness might be gone, but you realize that while you might feel better... your heart still hasn't quite returned to its normal, platonic beat.
By Saturday evening, the heavy tension of the week is completely behind you. You’re standing in front of your bedroom mirror, putting the finishing touches on your makeup, actually excited to let loose.
You’d texted your best friend, Mei, earlier in the week promising a night out to distract you, and tonight is finally the night.
As you grab your purse and head into the living room, you find Riki lounging on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. He looks up as you approach, his eyes sweeping over your outfit. A subtle, appreciative spark glints in his gaze, though he keeps his expression casually cool.
"Going out?" he asks, his voice dropping into that low, relaxed register.
"Yeah, with Mei," you smile, feeling lighter than you have in days. "I'll probably be back pretty late, so don't wait up."
Riki slides his phone into his pocket and starts to sit up, his long frame unfolding from the couch. "Do you need a lift? I can drive you if it's far."
"Oh, no, it's okay! Mei is on her way to pick me up," you say, checking a quick text on your phone. "She should be downstairs in a minute."
Riki nods, sinking back into the cushions, though he keeps his eyes locked on yours with a soft, protective sincerity. "Alright. But call me if you need a ride home, okay? Doesn't matter how late it is. Just call."
"I will. Promise," you offer him a warm wave as you head out the door, his thoughtful gesture leaving a pleasant, lingering warmth in your chest.
The club is a dizzying blur of pulsing bass, flashing neon lights, and sticky floors, and it is exactly what you needed. Within minutes of arriving, Mei grabs your hand and drags you straight to the bar, ordering a round of shots that burn beautifully on the way down.
The alcohol hits quickly, washing away the last remnants of your weekly stress and leaving you feeling wonderfully warm and giggly.
For the next couple of hours, the two of you are inseparable on the dance floor. You lose yourself in the heavy thud of the music, screaming the lyrics to songs you both love, laughing hysterically when some guy tries to buy you drinks with a terribly cheesy pickup line.
Mei is in peak form, aggressively dancing next to you to ward off any unwanted attention, making you laugh so hard your stomach aches.
Eventually, the heat of the dance floor becomes too much, and the two of you retreat to a slightly quieter booth tucked away near the back of the venue. You slide onto the leather seats, both of you flushed, breathless, and pleasantly buzzed.
"God, I needed this," Mei groans, leaning her head back against the booth. She turns her gaze to you, a sudden, mischievous glint entering her eyes as she takes a sip of her drink. "So... how’s that fine ass roommate of yours?"
You nearly choke on your drink. "Oh god, don't even bring him up, please."
Mei’s eyes widen instantly, her glass hovering halfway to the table. "Holy shit? Are you guys...!?"
"WHAT? NO, NO... I just—" You pause, suddenly feeling the warm rush of alcohol making you entirely too honest. You bite your lip, staring at the condensation pooling on your glass, fiercely debating whether you should actually say it out loud.
"Just what? Come on!" Mei nudges your arm, leaning in closer. "You can't just leave me hanging like that!"
"Well... last Sunday... I walked in on him while he was in the bathroom..."
"And?" Mei prompts, her voice dropping to an eager whisper.
"He was naked..."
Mei’s jaw drops, her eyes nearly popping out of her head. "SHUT UP!"
"Shhh!" You frantically wave your hands, checking the nearby booths. "Keep it down!"
"Sorry, sorry," Mei giggles, entirely unbothered, leaning in even closer. "So, like... anything happened since then?"
"Well, besides me avoiding him as much as I can and the constant image of his body on my mind... no," you admit, burying your hot face in your hands.
Mei gasps, practically vibrating in her seat. "Ahhh! So what has he said about it then?"
"Well, we both promised not to bring it up again," you explain, peeking through your fingers at her. "But he noticed I was avoiding him, so yesterday he came out and talked to me. We actually joked about it. I actually feel way better, I think it’s actually the first time I haven’t thought about him since."
"Uh-huh..." Mei murmurs. A slow, deeply teasing smirk begins to form on her lips, her eyes scanning your face with a knowing look. "And, uhm... any new feelings?"
You freeze, her words hanging heavily in the humid air of the club.
You pause, taking in her question, your mind suddenly drifting back to the quiet apartment. You and Riki have been close for so long.
Thinking about it now, there actually was a brief window of time when you first met where you looked at him and thought you could genuinely see yourself with him. But as the months rolled by and your friendship solidified, the idea of being with him like that became the furthest thing from reality.
You were just roommates. Just friends.
But seeing him so exposed... the breathtaking reality of how built he is... and then the way he handled it. His teasing, his effortless charm, the way he laughed off the awkwardness just to make sure you felt comfortable. You already found him attractive—that was just a baseline fact—but this? The way he is going about the whole thing?
Maybe the constant thought of him in your mind, replaying that morning non stop, wasn’t just a simple rush of lust taking over. Maybe you were actually starting to feel something real for him.
You and Mei head back to the bar, the heavy bass of the music washing over any lingering thoughts of roommate dynamics and hidden feelings.
For the next few hours, you completely lose yourself in the night. You drink, you laugh, you dance until your feet ache, throwing back shots of tequila and shouting the lyrics to songs you only half remember. By the time the lights in the club begin to dim, you are completely, beautifully out of it.
The cool night air hits you like a brick when you finally stumble out onto the sidewalk. You’re leaning heavily against Mei, giggling uncontrollably at a crack in the pavement, when your phone starts buzzing in your hand.
You slide the screen open with a clumsy thumb. It’s Riki.
"helllooo?" you chirp, your voice sliding into a high, giggly pitch.
"y/n Hey," Riki’s voice comes through the speaker, low and instantly grounding. "It’s getting late. Are you good? Do you need me to come get you?"
"Riki! Rikiii," you sing, leaning your head against Mei's shoulder as she tries to tickle your neck. "We are... we are so good. Look at the sky, Riki. It’s so... blue. Well, black. But like, shiny." You burst into a fit of breathless giggles, completely unable to hold a coherent thought.
There’s a brief silence on the other end of the line, followed by a heavy, fond sigh. "Yeah, okay. Stay exactly where you are. I’m on my way."
True to his word, it doesn’t take long before Riki pulls up to the curb. He kills the engine and steps out, immediately spotting the two of you leaning against a concrete planter, looking like a pair of absolute menaces.
Riki runs a hand through his hair, a look of pure, long suffering irritation on his face. The last thing he wanted to do tonight was play babysitter to two grown ass, highly intoxicated women, but he’s here anyway.
"Ohh, Riki hiii!" you squeal, waving dramatically with both arms as he walks over.
"Hi, Riki," Mei says, her voice dripping with a teasing tone as she wiggles her eyebrows at you.
Riki stops in front of you, crossing his arms over his chest as his dark eyes scan your flushed faces. "How much did you drink?"
"Not much," you say, holding up a finger and squinting. "Maybe like... eight shots?"
Riki’s eyes widen. "Of what?!"
"Mmm, yea..." you murmur, nodding solemnly as if that explained everything.
A small, helpless laugh escapes Riki’s lips. He shakes his head, unable to stay entirely annoyed when you’re being this childishly soft.
Mei, picking up on the sudden shift in the air, takes a clumsy step back. "Okay, well... I’ll leave you two alone."
"What? No," Riki says, his tone immediately switching to firm as he reaches out to grab Mei's arm before she can wander off. "I'm taking you home, Mei. You can’t drive, you’re drunk."
"I'm fine, Big Rik," Mei protests, trying to swat his hand away with a lazy grin. "Worry about your girl, not me."
Riki just rolls his eyes. Without another word, he grabs both of you by the elbows, gently but firmly guiding you toward his car. He knows you won't run off, so he focuses on getting a resisting Mei into the backseat first.
Once she’s buckled in he turns to you. He guides you into the passenger seat, his hand lingering on your lower back to steady you, before closing the door and jogging around to the driver's side.
He slides in, starts the car, and looks in the rearview mirror. "Okay, Mei. Your address?"
"Let me out, I can drive perfectly fine," she protests, crossing her arms.
"Yeah, sure. Address?" Riki asks again, completely unfazed by her stubbornness.
Mei rolls her eyes, realizing she’s not going to win this battle with him, and finally mumbles her address.
The ride is anything but quiet. For the first ten minutes, Mei begs Riki to turn the music on. The moment he finally relents, you and Mei start screaming the lyrics to a random pop song at the top of your lungs. Riki immediately reaches over and shuts the radio back off, muttering about his eardrums, which only causes the two of you to burst into a fresh wave of hysterical laughter.
When you finally pull up to Mei’s house, she opens the door and shoots Riki a pointed look. "You better give me a ride back to the club tomorrow so I can get my car, asshole. I have work."
"Yeah, yeah," Riki says, stepping out of the car to help her out. He walks her all the way to her front door, ensuring she gets inside safely.
By the time Riki climbs back into the driver's seat, the atmosphere in the car completely shifts. The chaotic energy of the night drains out of the vehicle, leaving a heavy, peaceful quiet.
He looks over at you. Your head is tilted back against the headrest, your eyes half closed as you trace the passing streetlights reflecting on the window. You’re drifting, right on the edge of sleep, the alcohol making your body feel incredibly heavy. Riki doesn't disturb you. He keeps the music off, driving smoothly through the quiet, empty streets.
When he finally pulls into the apartment parking garage, he puts the car in park but doesn't turn off the ignition.
He just sits there, turning his body slightly in the seat to look at you. In the dim, shadowed lighting of the car, your face looks incredibly soft. Your lips are parted slightly, your breathing slow and even.
Riki studies you.
Seeing you like this—completely vulnerable, sleepy, and quiet—does something strange to his chest. It’s a feeling he can’t quite define, a sudden, heavy warmth that makes his breath catch. He’s picked you up after nights out before, but tonight feels entirely different. The playful boundaries you’d redrawn over the week suddenly feel fragile.
Almost magnetically, his hand rises. His long fingers reach out, hovering for a second before he gently, softly strokes the side of your face, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your cheek. His touch is incredibly tender, almost tentative.
The subtle warmth of his hand against your skin pulls you from your light sleep. Your eyelids flutter open, and your hazy vision focuses on Riki. He’s leaning over you, his hand inches from your face.
The moment your eyes meet his, Riki flinches slightly, pulling his hand back immediately. He clears his throat, his gaze darting away to the steering wheel as he tries to shake the sudden, intense rush of heat in his chest.
"We're home," he says, his voice a little lower, rougher than usual as he tries to move past the weird feeling.
You let out a soft, tired sigh, closing your eyes again. You’re too out of it to fully process the tension in the air.
"Come on, y/n. Let's go," he says softly, reaching over to gently shake your shoulder. "You can sleep in your bed."
"Ughhh, fine," you mumble, forcing your heavy limbs to cooperate as you open the door and stumble out of the car.
Your knees instantly buckle the second your feet hit the concrete. Riki is there in a flash, his strong arm wrapping securely around your waist to keep you upright. He pulls your arm over his shoulder, holding you tight against his side as the two of you begin the slow walk toward the apartment lobby.
But before you can even make it to the glass doors, a sudden, violent wave of nausea hits you. Your mouth starts watering, and your stomach does a terrifying flip.
"Riki—stop," you gasp, pushing his chest away with surprising strength.
You stumble toward a concrete trash can near the entrance, gripping the cold metal rim for balance. You barely have time to steady yourself before your stomach completely rebels, and everything you drank tonight comes rushing up.
Riki is beside you in an instant. He doesn't hesitate, doesn't show a single ounce of disgust. He steps up behind you, gently gathering your hair in one hand to keep it out of the way, while his other hand rests firmly on your back, rubbing soothing, slow circles between your shoulder blades.
"I've got you," he murmurs quietly, his voice steady and calm against the quiet of the night. "Just let it out. You're okay."
When the violent retching finally stops, you lean heavily against the trash can, gasping for air. Your throat burns, your eyes are watering, and a deep, crushing wave of embarrassment washes over you. You look away from him, staring at the ground.
"I'm sorry—" you whisper, your voice cracking.
"Don't apologize," Riki cuts in gently. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a clean pack of tissues, handing them to you. His expression is incredibly soft, a sympathetic, patient smile on his lips. "It's fine. Let's just get you to your room, okay?"
You nod weakly, wiping your face. Riki pulls you back into his side, taking almost all of your weight as he guides you through the lobby, into the elevator, and finally through the front door of your shared apartment.
The apartment is dark and quiet. Riki guides you down the short hallway straight to your bedroom, kicking the door open. He gently maneuvers you toward the bed, helping you sit down on the edge of the mattress.
You collapse backward onto the pillows, let out a long, exhausted groan, and close your eyes. The room is spinning slightly, but the bed feels like heaven.
Riki disappears for a moment, his quiet footsteps receding toward the bathroom. He returns a minute later with a warm, damp washcloth. He sits on the edge of your mattress, the bed dipping under his weight.
You blink sleepily up at him. Riki leans in, his expression intensely focused and tender as he uses the warm cloth to gently wipes your face, cleaning away any lingering trace of the night. His touch is so incredibly soft, his fingers brushing against your jawline with a gentleness that makes your heart ache.
As he works, you just stare up at him. The dim light from the hallway catches the sharp line of his jaw, the dark intensity of his eyes, and the broad expanse of his shoulders. The memory of Sunday morning—and the conversation you just had with Mei—swirls together in your hazy, alcohol thinned mind.
You actually feel something for him.
Riki pulls the cloth away, but as he looks down at you, he freezes. He catches you staring up at him with an expression that is entirely too open, too vulnerable. For a long, silent moment, neither of you move. The quiet space of your bedroom feels incredibly small, the air thick with an entirely different kind of tension.
Riki’s throat bobs as he swallows. Slowly, he begins to shift his weight, preparing to stand up and give you your space. "I'll let you sleep..."
Before he can pull away, your hand shoots out from beneath the covers. Your fingers wrap around his wrist, your grip surprisingly tight.
"Stay," you whisper, the word slipping out before you can think to stop it. Your voice is small, almost pleading. "Please. Just... stay until I sleep."
Riki hesitates, his eyes dropping to where your hand is clutching his wrist. The sensible, logical part of his brain tells him he should leave, that you’re drunk and he should let you rest. But looking down at your sleepy, beautiful face, he find he doesn't have the strength to walk away.
With a soft, quiet sigh, Riki relaxes his posture. He doesn't get under the covers, but he shifts so he’s sitting comfortably against your headboard, his long legs stretched out over the top of the duvet.
"Okay," he whispers back, his voice incredibly gentle in the dark. "I'm staying."
You let out a contented sigh, your grip on his wrist relaxing, though you keep your hand resting comfortably against his knee. You close your eyes, the gentle, steady rise and fall of his breathing beside you acting as a perfect anchor.
Riki watches you as your breathing slowly evens out, his hand resting lightly over yours. And in the quiet safety of the room, he realizes that whatever simple, platonic dynamic you two used to have is officially gone. And neither of you wants it back.
The blinding Sunday morning sun feels like a personal attack as you slowly blink your eyes open. Your head throbs with a dull, heavy ache, and your mouth feels like it’s dry.
You groan, rolling over onto your side and staring blankly at your bedroom wall. Bits and pieces of the previous night are there, but they’re scattered and disjointed. You remember the bass of the club, the warm burn of the shots, and screaming lyrics next to Mei. But after a certain point, everything just fades into a fuzzy, warm blur.
You sit up slowly, holding your head as a wave of dizziness washes over you. Taking a deep breath, you swing your feet out of bed and pad quietly out of your room, desperately needing a glass of water.
When you slide into the kitchen, you find Riki already sitting at the island, a mug of coffee in his hand. He’s dressed in a loose grey tee, his damp hair indicating he’s already showered. The second he hears your soft footsteps, his head snaps up.
"Morning," he says, his voice quiet, searching your face with an intensity that makes you freeze for a second.
"Morning," you mumble, keeping your eyes down as you grab a glass and fill it from the fridge. After taking a long, desperate gulp, you turn to him sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck.
“Hey... listen. I barely remember anything after we left the club, but... I am so, so sorry. For whatever I did or said last night. I know I must have been an absolute handful."
Riki’s hand freezes on his mug. He stares at you, his dark eyes widening slightly, a tiny, hopeful flicker shining in his gaze.
"You really don't remember?" he asks, his voice dropping a notch, sounding almost disappointed.
You shake your head, offering a weak, apologetic smile. "Honestly, the most I know is that Mei and I were both completely drunk off our asses. There’s absolutely no way she could have gotten me home without us ending up in a hospital. So, obviously, you had to come rescue us. Thank you, really. And again, I'm sorry if I was annoying."
Riki stares at you for a long moment, the hopeful look in his eyes slowly dimming into something quiet, guarded, and slightly frustrated. He takes a slow sip of his coffee, looking away toward the window.
"Don't worry about it," he says quietly, his tone suddenly feeling incredibly distant. “You weren't annoying."
He doesn't offer any details. He doesn't tease you about how much you drank, and he doesn't bring up the ride home. He just sits there, strangely quiet, staring at his mug until he finally gets up, washes his glass, and retreats back into his bedroom without another word.
As Sunday bleeds into Monday, a strange, heavy shift settles over the apartment.
Riki is avoiding you.
It’s not loud or aggressive, but it’s painfully obvious. He slips out of rooms the moment you walk in. When you ask him a question, his answers are short, polite, and completely devoid of his usual teasing spark. When he leaves for the studio, he doesn't offer a quiet "see you later" or look you in the eye. He just slips out like a ghost.
At first, you don't mind it much. You figure he’s just tired from work, or maybe he’s still a little annoyed about having to babysit two drunk girls over the weekend. But as Monday afternoon rolls on, the silence in the apartment starts to feel suffocating.
You’re sitting at your desk, supposed to be working, but your mind is entirely occupied by Riki.
The memory of the past week flashes through your head. You had just gotten over the absolute embarrassment of walking in on him. You had finally laughed it off, finally cleared the air, and yet, here he was, suddenly acting like a stranger again.
Why? What could have possibly happened on Saturday night?
The thought begins to crawl into your mind, cold and terrifying: Did I do something weird?
You try to piece the night together. Did you say something offensive to him in the car? Did you throw up on him? Did you make some horrible, unfiltered comment about his body because of how much you'd been thinking about it all week?
The anxiety builds in your chest, hot and heavy, bubbling up until you can barely breathe. You can’t live in this tense, quiet limbo anymore. He’s at work right now, but the second he gets home, you’re going to confront him. You need to know what you did so you can apologize and fix this.
At around 8:00 PM, the front door finally clicks open.
Your heart immediately leaps into your throat. You sit perfectly still on your bed, listening to the familiar sounds of Riki kicking off his shoes, dropping his bag, and heading straight to the bathroom. You freeze, locking your eyes on your closed bedroom door, waiting.
You decide to give him some space first. You'll wait until he’s done showering and has had a chance to get comfortable.
But one hour passes. Then two.
The apartment remains completely silent. You sit on the edge of your mattress, checking your phone, the built up stress twisting your stomach into tight, painful knots. The uncertainty is eating you alive.
Suddenly, a soft, hesitant knock sounds against your bedroom door.
You jump, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Come in!" you call out, your voice slightly tight.
The door opens just a crack, and Riki peeks in. He’s wearing his damp hair messy, dressed in a clean black t-shirt and sweats. He doesn't step inside, keeping his hand on the doorknob.
"Hey," he says quietly, his eyes darting to your floor before briefly meeting yours. "I ordered some food. It's on the kitchen counter if you want some."
"Oh. Okay, thanks," you say softly.
He nods once, his face completely unreadable, and shuts the door.
You wait a minute, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, before finally getting up. You walk out into the hallway, expecting to find him sitting on the couch where the two of you always eat together. But the living room is dark. The TV is off.
You look toward the kitchen. The bags of food are sitting on the counter, but Riki is nowhere to be seen.
You follow the soft light glowing from the end of the hall. His bedroom door is pushed open, and when you look inside, you find him sitting at his desk, eating quietly by himself.
That’s the final straw. The built up stress of the last forty-eight hours finally boils over, shattering your resolve to stay calm.
You step into his doorway, your hands clenched at your sides.
"Okay, did I do something?"
The words burst out of you, sharp and loud in the quiet room.
Riki freezes, his chopsticks hovering halfway to his mouth. He blinks, staring up at you in complete confusion. "What? No?"
"So why are you being so weird towards me?" you press, taking a step further into his room, your voice trembling slightly with a mix of anxiety and frustration. "What happened? Ever since Sunday morning, you won't even look at me. If I did something stupid or said something horrible when I was drunk on Saturday, just tell me so I can apologize."
Riki stares at you, his chest rising and falling with a heavy breath as he takes in your frantic, stressed expression. Slowly, he sets his food down on the desk.
"Nothing," he stammers slightly, his dark eyes softening, looking genuinely apologetic. "Can you... can you just calm down?"
You look at him, his soft tone instantly cutting through your rising panic. You let out a long, shaky sigh, the anger draining out of you, leaving you feeling incredibly small. You take a step back, rubbing your face in your hands.
"I'm sorry," you mutter, looking at the floor. "I just... I've been stressing about this all day."
"No, it's fine," Riki says quietly. He shifts in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks away, a faint, troubled expression crossing his handsome face. "I'm sorry if I've been seeming distant. I just... I've been having some weird... feelings?"
He says the word feelings almost unsurely, as if he’s still trying to translate the heavy warmth in his chest into actual language.
You blink, completely caught off guard by his honesty. "Oh... do you want to talk about them?"
Riki pauses, his eyes drifting back to your face. He sees the genuine concern and the soft vulnerability in your eyes, and his throat bobs as he swallows.
"Well... not really," he admits softly. But seeing your face fall slightly, he quickly adds, "But it’s not because you did something. I promise. It’s just... something I have to figure out on my own."
"You don't have to explain. I get it," you say.
And you genuinely do. Because with how your own feelings have been going every which way ever since you saw him completely vulnerable in that bathroom, your brain has been a chaotic mess. You understand exactly what it’s like to have thoughts you aren't ready to speak out loud yet.
"Sorry for storming in on you," you offer gently, backing toward the door.
"It's fine," he says, a tiny, genuine smile finally tugging at the corner of his lips.
You offer him a small smile back and slip out of his room, closing the door softly behind you. As you walk back to the kitchen to grab your food, you feel a massive wave of relief wash over you. You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't ruin your friendship.
But as you sit down on the living room couch, Riki’s words seem to echo in the quiet apartment.
Some weird feelings.
What kind of feelings was he having? Did it have anything to do with Saturday night? With you?
The thoughts linger for a fleeting, dangerous second, making your heart do a sudden, erratic flutter. But you quickly shake your head, forcing the thoughts away. You didn't want to start overanalyzing everything again. You just needed to let him figure it out.
But as you eat your dinner in the quiet room, you can't help but feel like the space between your two has never felt so small.
Another week slid by, and to your immense relief, the easy, comfortable rhythm of your shared apartment finally returned.
The tense silence was gone, replaced once again by casual late night conversations in the kitchen, shared glances over bad TV shows, and the familiar, grounding presence of Riki just a room away.
He seemed to have worked through whatever "weird feelings" he was having, and you did your absolute best to keep your own new, fragile emotions tucked safely out of sight. You were back to being friends. Normal. Safe.
At least, until Friday night.
You and Mei were sprawled out in the living room, completely taking over the space. Sweatpants on, hair thrown into messy buns, and an absolute graveyard of takeout containers and snacks scattered across the coffee table. You were in the middle of laughing at a ridiculously dramatic reality show when the front door unlocked.
Riki walked in, looking effortlessly good in a soft, oversized cream knit sweater and dark jeans, his dance bag slung over one shoulder.
"Hey," he murmured, a soft, tired smile instantly gracing his lips as he saw the chaotic setup in the living room.
"Hey!” you smiled up at him, feeling that familiar, warm flutter in your chest.
"Hi, Riki," Mei chimed in, offering a casual wave from her spot on the floor.
"Hey, Mei," he replied, kicking off his shoes.
He walked into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, leaning against the counter for a brief moment. Everything felt completely normal, light, and easy. He didn't linger too long, knowing you and Mei were having a girls night.
“I'm gonna go shower and crash. Don't be too loud please."
"We won't. Goodnight, Riki," you said.
He gave you one last, lingering look before heading down the hall to his room and closing the door.
The second the click of his door echoed down the hallway, Mei slowly turned her head toward you. The lazy, relaxed expression she’d had a moment ago was completely gone, replaced by a razor-sharp, deeply knowing look.
"Okay, so... anything new?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
You kept your eyes glued to the TV, reaching for a handful of popcorn. "With what?"
"Come on, Y/N, don’t act dumb," Mei groaned, throwing a small pillow at your legs. "What’s been going on between you two?"
"Mei... it’s nothing. We’re friends," you insisted, finally looking at her and trying to keep your voice as flat and convincing as possible.
Mei let out a dry, theatrical scoff. "Yeah, sure. I can definitely tell both of you are way different from before."
"Nothing is different," you muttered, though you could feel the heat starting to prickle at the back of your neck. You took a slow sip of your drink, desperately hoping she’d just drop it.
"Even you don’t believe that," Mei countered, her tone dropping into something softer, more earnest. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees.
"Y/N, the way he looks at you when he walks into a room? The way you practically light up the second his shoes hit the entryway? It’s not the same as it was a month ago. You both have this... energy now."
You stared at your glass, the defenses you’d spent the last week carefully building suddenly starting to crumble under her scrutiny. You let out a quiet, defeated sigh, shoulders slumping.
"Okay... maybe I might be feeling different about him," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "But it doesn’t matter. Me and Riki are friends, nothing more. And he does not see me like that."
Mei tilted her head, her eyes locking onto yours with a challenging spark. "How do you know?"
You opened your mouth to answer, to give her a list of logical reasons why Riki would never think of you that way. But as you searched your brain, nothing came out. You thought about the tender way he had wiped your face after you were sick. You thought about his hand lingering on your wrist in the dark of your bedroom, and the soft, hopeful look in his eyes when he asked if you remembered Saturday night. You couldn't find a single solid piece of proof to back up your claim. You sat there, completely silent, unable to even answer.
"Exactly," Mei said, a soft, triumphant smile playing on her lips. "Why don’t you just tell him how you’ve been feeling?"
Your heart did a violent, panicked stutter. "I don’t..."
"You gotta try something, y/n, or you’ll never know if something could’ve happened between you two," Mei pressed gently.
You shot her a flat, "be serious" expression, but deep down, her words were hitting you like a physical weight. You wrapped your arms tightly around your chest, staring down at the carpet as the reality of her advice sank in.
For the rest of the night, Mei’s words clung to you like a second skin. Even as the two of you went back to laughing at the TV, drinking, and talking trash, the thought of Riki remained locked in the back of your mind. You managed to push it down eventually, forcing yourself to live in the moment and enjoy the rest of your night with your best friend, but the seed had been planted.
You knew Mei was right. The comfortable, purely platonic boundary you had relied on for so long had already been crossed, whether you wanted to admit it or not.
Maybe you should say something to him.
But as you glanced down the dark hallway toward his closed bedroom door, a cold, familiar knot of anxiety tightened in your throat. Riki was your roommate, your confidant, one of the closest people in your life. The thought of losing the precious bond you already had—of making things so weird that you couldn't even look each other in the eye anymore—was terrifying. And right now, that fear was the only thing holding you back.
The soft, golden warmth of Saturday morning filtered through the sheer curtains of the living room, painting quiet blocks of light across the hardwood floor.
After the whirlwind of the past few weeks—the accidental bathroom incident, the drunken night out, and the heavy conversations that followed—the apartment finally felt like a sanctuary again. The thick, suffocating layers of tension had peeled away, leaving behind a comfortable, familiar space.
You sat at the kitchen island, slowly sipping a freshly brewed cup of coffee. The hum of the refrigerator and the distant chirp of birds outside were the only sounds filling the quiet morning. It was the kind of peaceful weekend start you had desperately missed.
The soft creak of Riki’s bedroom door opening broke the quiet. You didn't stiffen or freeze this time, instead, you felt a warm, easy anticipation settle in your chest.
Riki padded into the kitchen, his hair delightfully messy from sleep, sticking up in random directions. He blinked sleepily against the morning light, rubbing the back of his neck as he made his way to the coffee pot.
"Morning," he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep, a low rumble that vibrated pleasantly in the quiet kitchen.
"Morning, sleepyhead," you smiled, leaning your chin on your palm as you watched him pour himself a mug.
Riki let out a soft, amused huff, taking a slow sip of his black coffee. He leaned against the counter opposite you, his eyes focusing on your face. A tiny, lingering glance passed between you—one of those quiet, loaded seconds where you both remembered everything but chose to let it rest—before he offered a lazy, handsome grin.
"I have a busy week ahead at the studio," he explained, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I had to store up my energy. What are your plans for today?"
"Honestly? Absolutely nothing," you admitted, swirling the remaining coffee in your mug. "I was just going to rot on the couch, maybe run a few boring errands later."
Riki set his mug down on the counter, his gaze brightening with a sudden, playful spark. "Don't run errands. Let's do something today. Just the two of us."
"Oh? And what did you have in mind."
"We could get food. Walk around the park. Just get out of the apartment," he shrugged, though the hopeful look in his eyes was hard to miss. "It’s nice out today. It’d be a waste to just stay inside."
"Alright, fine," you laughed, sliding off the barstool. "Give me thirty minutes to get ready."
"Take your time," Riki chuckled, his eyes trailing you with a soft, lingering warmth as you walked down the hallway to your bedroom. "I’ll be waiting."
True to his word, Riki was ready and waiting by the front door when you emerged from your room. He had changed into a clean, well fitted black t-shirt and baggy denim jeans, a simple outfit that somehow made him look incredibly striking.
Your mind briefly threatened to flash back to the image of him without the shirt, but you firmly shook the thought away, offering him a bright smile instead.
"Look at you, actually putting effort in," you teased, grabbing your keys and purse.
"I always put effort in," Riki countered, reaching past you to open the front door. As he did, his chest brushed lightly against your shoulder, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.
“You're just finally noticing."
You laughed, stepping out into the warm afternoon air.
The drive to the local park was filled with the easy, comfortable noise of your favorite playlist humming through the car speakers.
This time, there was no drunken shouting or frantic radio switching. Instead, Riki drove with one hand casually on the steering wheel, occasionally tapping his fingers to the beat, while you pointed out random things along the road, laughing at his dry, sarcastic commentary.
When you arrived at the park, the weather was absolutely perfect. A gentle breeze rustled through the green trees, keeping the summer heat at bay as the two of you began a slow walk along the paved path.
"So," you started, hands tucked into your pockets as you walked side by side. "How has the new choreography been going? You said last week was brutal.”
"It is," Riki sighed, though there was a passionate, dedicated spark in his eyes. "The details are really sharp this time. My shoulders have been killing me from the constant repetitions."
Without thinking, your eyes dropped to his shoulders, tracing the strong, solid lines beneath his black shirt. "Well... you do work really hard. Just don't overdo it."
Riki paused his walking, turning his head to look down at you. A slow, deeply teasing smirk began to crawl onto his face. "Are you worrying about me, y/n?"
"I am a highly responsible roommate," you shot back, feeling a faint warmth rising to your cheeks. "If you throw your back out, I'm the one who has to drag you around the apartment. I'm just looking out for my own physical labor."
"Right. Purely self serving," Riki chuckled, nudging his shoulder playfully against yours as you resumed walking. "I'll try to keep myself intact for your sake."
By mid afternoon, the walk had worked up an appetite, and Riki insisted on going to a small, cozy diner tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. The diner was wonderfully retro, smelling of grilled burgers, sweet syrup, and fresh coffee.
You slid into a red vinyl booth, and Riki sat directly across from you. The table between you was small, meaning his long legs easily brushed against yours beneath the wooden partition. Neither of you pulled away, the subtle, warm contact feeling incredibly natural.
"I'm getting a chocolate milkshake, and no, you cannot have a sip," you declared, pointing a warning finger at him as you scanned the menu.
Riki let out a dramatic sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. "Wow. Cold hearted. After I drove you all the way here?"
"You can order your own, rich boy," you giggled, looking up from your menu to meet his gaze.
His eyes were locked onto yours, soft and intensely focused. The playful banter faded for a brief, quiet second, replaced by a profound, comfortable closeness.
The fear that Mei had planted in your head the night before—the terrifying thought of losing him if you ever confessed—suddenly felt incredibly distant. Sitting here with him, laughing and sharing space, made you realize how deeply woven he was into your life.
"I'll just steal yours when you aren't looking," Riki teased softly, breaking the quiet moment with a wink that made your heart skip a beat.
"Just try it, and see what happens," you warned, though your smile was wide and happy.
When the food arrived, the comfortable chatter continued. Riki listened intently as you rambled about a project you were working on, nodding along and offering genuine, thoughtful advice. He was a great listener, always paying attention to the little details you mentioned, a quality you had always deeply appreciated about him.
By the time you made it back to the apartment, the sun was beginning to set, painting the sky in beautiful hues of dusty pink and warm orange. You felt pleasantly tired, your stomach full and your mind incredibly relaxed.
As you unlocked the front door, Riki followed you inside, tossing his keys onto the entryway table. The apartment was cool and quiet, a peaceful contrast to the bustling energy of the city.
"Thanks for today, Riki," you said, turning around to face him as you kicked off your shoes. "I really needed a distraction."
"Anytime," Riki murmured, taking a step closer to you. He looked down at you, the fading evening light catching the soft contours of his face. "I had fun, too. It’s nice just spending time with you like this."
You looked up at him, your breath hitching slightly at the sincerity in his voice. The teasing, playful roommate persona was gone, replaced by the raw, gentle warmth he had shown you on Saturday night in your room.
"Yeah," you whispered, your heart beating a little faster. "Me too."
Riki reached out, his long fingers gently brushing against your arm for a fleeting second, a warm, reassuring touch that made your skin tingle. "I'm gonna go change. Movie night?"
"Definitely," you smiled, watching him walk down the hallway.
As you went to your room to change into your night clothes, you couldn't help but think about Mei’s words from the night before. You gotta try something, Y/N, or you’ll never know.
Today had been perfect. It was comfortable, safe, and filled with the easy love of a deep friendship. But beneath the surface, the current was changing. The lingering glances, the gentle touches, and the quiet warmth between you were growing stronger with every passing day.
And as you walked back into the living room to join Riki on the couch, you realized that maybe the fear of losing what you had was finally being outweighed by the exciting, terrifying possibility of what you could become.
The soft, blueish glow of the television screen was the only source of light in the dark living room as the movie played on.
You and Riki were sitting next to each other on the couch, sharing a large, heavy knit blanket draped over both of your laps. But you weren’t sitting super close. There was a careful space between your shoulders—just enough room for the large bowl of popcorn sitting directly between you on the middle cushion.
It was a comfortable setup, but the unspoken awareness of his proximity was humming just beneath the surface.
Every time Riki reached into the bowl at the same time as you, his knuckles would briefly brush against yours, sending a sharp, electric jolt straight up your arm. You’d both quietly pull your hands back, offer a muttered "sorry," and go back to staring at the screen.
As the movie progressed into its second hour, the comfortable atmosphere began to shift, growing heavier.
Maybe it was the exhausting emotional roller coaster of the past two weeks, or maybe it was the lingering weight of Mei’s words echoing in your head. You found yourself completely unable to focus on the plot. Your chest felt tight, your mind spinning with a sudden, frustrating wave of impatience.
Riki, too, seemed restless. He kept shifting his weight, his eyes darting to you in the shadows of the room, his jaw slightly tense.
"You're not even watching," Riki murmured suddenly, his low voice cutting through the quiet dialogue of the TV. He reached for the remote and paused the film, plunging the room into a still, heavy silence.
You blinked, caught off guard. "What? Yes, I am."
"You've been sighing every five minutes, y/n," Riki interrupted softly, turning his body on the cushions to face you. "And you’re aggressively tearing a piece of popcorn apart. What’s going on?"
Your fingers froze, indeed holding a completely shredded piece of popcorn. You let out a breath, suddenly feeling a spike of irritation. You were tired of the dancing around, tired of the careful boundaries, and tired of pretending you weren't losing your mind.
"Nothing is going on, Riki. I'm just tired," you said, your tone coming out a bit sharper than you intended.
Riki’s eyebrows pulled together, a flicker of defensiveness crossing his face. "Okay, clearly you're not 'just tired.' Did I do something again? Because I thought we solved the weirdness on Monday."
"We did solve it," you said, sitting up straighter and letting the blanket slip off your shoulders. "But then you go and act completely distant, and then you tell me you're having 'weird feelings' that you can't talk to me about."
"Because they're my feelings to deal with," Riki shot back, his voice rising just a fraction, a rare edge of frustration in his tone. He ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely stressed. "I was trying to protect our dynamic. I didn't want to make things weird for you."
"Protecting our dynamic?" you repeated, a bitter, disbelieving laugh slipping from your throat. "Riki, things have been weird since the moment I walked in on you. And I've been sitting here trying to navigate whatever this is, wondering if I ruined our friendship, while you just shut down!"
"I didn't shut down because of you!" Riki stepped in, his eyes snapping to yours, intense and burning in the dim light.
"Then why?!" you demanded, the built up emotion finally boiling over. "Why are you keeping secrets? Why are you acting like I’m some fragile glass doll you’re gonna break? If you're annoyed with me, or if you're disgusted by whatever happened, just say it!"
"Disgusted?!" Riki let out a harsh, frustrated breath, leaning forward so quickly the space between you evaporated. "Are you kidding me right now? Is that really what you think?"
"I don't know what to think!" you yelled back, your chest heaving, tears of sheer frustration prickling at the corners of your eyes. "You don't talk to me! You touch my face in the car when you think I'm asleep, you stay in my room until I fall asleep, and then you act like I'm a stranger the next day! It's driving me insane because... because I can't stop thinking about you, Riki!"
The confession tore out of you, loud, raw, and completely unfiltered.
The silence that followed was deafening. Your own breath hitched in your throat, your eyes widening in horror as the weight of your slip up crashed down on you. You had said it. You had literally just admitted it.
Riki froze, his entire body locking up as he stared at you. The anger drained from his face in an instant, replaced by a stunned, breathless shock. "What...?"
"I..." You scrambled backward, trying to untangle your legs from the blanket, desperate to escape to your room. "Nothing. Forget I said that. I'm going to bed."
"No, wait—"
Riki reached out, his hand wrapping firmly around your wrist, stopping you from moving away. His grip was warm, solid, and completely unyielding. He pulled you back toward him, his eyes searching your panicked face with a sudden, desperate intensity.
"Say it again," he whispered, his voice trembling slightly.
"Riki, please let go," you pleaded, your voice cracking as the fear of rejection tightened in your chest. "I made a mistake. I shouldn't have said that."
"It wasn't a mistake," Riki said, his voice dropping into a deep, raw rumble. He let go of your wrist, only to cup the side of your face with his warm palm, forcing you to look at him. "You think you're the only one losing your mind? You think I shut down because I was annoyed?"
You stared at him, your heart hammering so loudly you were certain he could hear it.
"I shut down because being around you... having you touch me, having you look at me... it made me realize things I was trying to ignore," Riki admitted, his thumb gently tracing your cheekbone.
His breath was warm against your skin, his gaze dropping to your lips before locking back onto your eyes. "I couldn't stop thinking about you. Every time I looked at you this week, all I wanted to do was this."
Before you could even process his words, Riki leaned in.
The kiss was sudden, a collision of built up frustration, longing, and relief. His lips pressed against yours, warm and firm, catching you entirely off guard.
For a second, you both froze. The shock of the contact made you both pull back, just an inch, staring at each other in the dark with wide, breathless eyes. The reality of what was happening hung suspended in the air, unsure and terrifying.
But then, Riki’s gaze darkened with pure, unfiltered desire. He didn't give you time to overthink. He leaned back in, and this time, the hesitation was entirely gone.
He captured your mouth again, but this time, it was deeper, more heated, and desperate. A soft gasp escaped your lips, which Riki immediately drank in, his hand sliding from your cheek to wrap firmly around the back of your neck, tangling in your hair to pull you closer.
The space between you completely vanished. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you as you kissed him back with the exact same frantic, built up hunger.
Riki let out a low growl against your lips, his free hand wrapping securely around your waist, lifting you easily until you were practically draped across his lap.
The world outside the apartment completely ceased to exist. There was only the heat of his body, the firm grip of his hands on your skin, and the intoxicating, dizzying taste of him. Every touch was electric, erasing the weeks of agonizing tension in a matter of seconds.
Riki broke the kiss for a split second, his breath hitching as he pressed his forehead against yours, both of you panting. His chest was expanding rapidly against yours, his hands griping your hips with a heavy, possessive force.
He slid his arms under your thighs and back, lifting you effortlessly off the couch in one smooth motion. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, burying your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the intoxicating scent of clean soap and warm skin as he carried you down the short hallway.
He kicked his bedroom door open, stepping into the dark, quiet sanctuary of his room, before shutting the door behind him.
The door clicks shut, sealing out the rest of the world and plunging you both into the dim, shadow draped quiet of Riki’s bedroom. The moment his back hits the closed wood, he doesn't let you down. Instead, his grip around your thighs tightens, pinning you against him as his mouth crashes back onto yours with a fierce, demanding hunger.
There is no room for doubts now, no space for the careful hesitation that defined the last two weeks.
The makeout is raw, fast, and intensely heated. You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, whimpering into the kiss as his tongue slides against yours, tasting of mint and desperate, bottled up want.
Riki lets out a low, vibration of a groan, his hands sliding up your back, bunching the fabric of your shirt as he presses you flush against the solid plane of his chest.
He shifts, his lips breaking away from yours only to trail a burning path down the sensitive skin of your jaw.
A breathy gasp escapes you as his mouth finds the sweet spot right where your neck meets your shoulder. Riki sucks firmly against the soft skin, his teeth grazing over the flesh in a slow, possessive drag.
The sharp, dizzying sting of a hickey forming makes your toes curl. You grip his shoulders, your nails digging lightly into the fabric of his shirt as he marks you in the dark.
Almost no words pass between you, only the heavy, frantic sound of your joined breathing and the wet, quiet friction of his lips devouring your skin.
Slowly, Riki lets you slide down his body until your feet touch the cool floor, though he doesn't let you go for a single second. He guides you backward toward the edge of his bed, his hands warm and steady on your hips until you sink onto the mattress.
Before you can even catch your breath, Riki drops to his knees on the floor between your thighs. His hands slide to the waistband of your shorts, his fingers brushing against your skin as he gently but deliberately slides them down your legs, taking your undies with them in one smooth, fluid motion. He tosses them aside, leaving you completely exposed under his gaze.
Your breath hitches as he looks up at you through his dark, messy fringe, his eyes burning with an intense, focused heat. He doesn't hesitate. His hands slide up your bare legs, parting them gently, and then he leans forward to kiss you, his lips meeting yours with a fierce, demanding passion that leaves you completely breathless.
Your breath hitches as he looks up at you through his dark, messy fringe, his eyes burning with an intense, focused heat. He doesn't hesitate. His hands slide up your legs, parting them gently, and then he leans forward to taste you.
The first touch of his tongue makes your whole body shudder. Riki is incredibly, agonizingly good at what he’s doing. Every stroke is deliberate, heavy, and wet, finding your sweetest spots with a terrifying accuracy that leaves you completely defenseless.
Within minutes, you are a trembling, unraveled mess. Clutching the bedsheets on either side of you, your hips lifting involuntarily as you try to press yourself closer to his mouth. Your breathing turns into shallow, rapid gasps, and your chest heaves as the pleasure builds into something entirely overwhelming.
"Riki—ah, please," you cry out, his name slipping from your lips in a breathless, needy shout that echoes softly in the quiet room.
He doesn't stop. He only grips your thighs tighter, anchoring you to him as his mouth moves faster, driving you completely over the edge. A low, muffled praise vibrates against your skin. "You taste so good," he mutters against you, his voice thick. "So sweet for me."
He continues the relentless pace, pulling every single gasp and twitch out of you until you finally break, your body locking up as you cum all over his mouth.
As the waves of your release slowly begin to settle, Riki crawls up the bed, his dark eyes fixed on your flushed, dazed face. He leans over you, kissing you gently, letting you taste yourself on his lips.
Slowly, without breaking his gaze, his hands slide to the hem of your shirt. He slips it over your head and tosses it onto the floor, his eyes tracking the rise and fall of your bare chest. Then, his hands move to his own shirt, pulling it off. In the dim light, the sight of his bare, broad chest and defined abs makes your throat go dry.
But before he goes any further, Riki pauses. He props himself up on his elbows, hovering over you, his expression suddenly very serious, very tender.
"Are you okay?" he whispers, his thumb lightly brushing your lip. "You're sure about this?"
"Yes," you breathe, reaching up to cup his jaw. "More than sure."
Riki lets out a soft breath, a relieved smile brushing his lips. He turns to his nightstand, his long arm reaching out to grab a condom from the drawer. You watch the quiet, focused movement of his shoulders as he prepares, your heart hammering in anticipation.
Once ready, he settles between your thighs, guiding your legs over his shoulders to open you up completely. He aligns himself at your entrance, pausing for a second to look into your eyes before he slowly slides inside you.
The fullness of him stretching you, makes your head fling back against the pillows as a needy, breathless groan slips from your throat. Your fingers instantly tangle in his messy hair, holding him close as your body adjusts to his size. Riki waits, letting you get used to him, before he begins to move.
He starts with agonizingly slow, deep thrusts, testing your limits. Every time he slides all the way out, only to sink back in even deeper, you let out a ragged gasp. The friction is immediate and electric, sending waves of heat straight to your core. Your hips instinctively lift to meet him, begging for a faster pace, but Riki keeps the rhythm steady and punishingly slow.
The heat between you builds with every slow slide of his body against yours. You can feel the slick friction of him driving you closer and closer to the edge, the familiar, tight coil of another release starting to tension deep in your lower stomach. Your breath comes in short, shallow pants, and your grip on his shoulders tightens as you feel yourself hovering right on the precipice of a peak—
But just as you’re about to fall over the edge, Riki suddenly stops. He pulls completely out of you.
"Riki!" you groan, the sudden coldness leaving you empty. Your eyes snap open in pure frustration as you stare up at him, your hands desperately trying to claw him back down.
Riki lets out a low chuckle, his chest vibrating against yours. He leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your pouting lips, tasting your desperation. "Be patient," he murmurs against your mouth, his thumb stroking your hip in a slow, soothing circle that only drives you crazier. "I don't want to rush this. I wanna take my time with you."
Before you can even protest, Riki grips your hips and gently but firmly rolls you over onto your stomach.
You press your face into his pillows, your breath coming in short, needy pants as you feel him settle behind you. The shift in angle is sharp and immediate. He grabs your hips, pulling you flush against him, and begins to fuck you from behind.
The sound of his skin slapping against yours fills the quiet bedroom, matching the frantic rhythm of your racing pulse. You arch your back, burying your face in the sheets to muffle your loud cries as he drives you closer and closer to the edge.
But just as you feel yourself reaching the absolute peak, your body trembling on the verge of breaking—
He pulls out again.
You let out a sharp, genuinely angry whine, twisting your head to glare at him over your shoulder. Your face is flushed, your hair wild, and you are completely fed up with his control.
Riki just looks down at you, a devilish, intensely satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he shrugs. "Just wait," he whispers, his voice dripping with playful torment.
You’ve had entirely enough of his little games.
Fueled by a sudden, defiant rush of adrenaline, you don't wait for his permission. You push yourself up off your stomach, turning around to face him.
Before he can react or pull away again, you crawl forward, straddling his lap as he sits back against the headboard. You lock your eyes onto his, letting him see the stubborn determination in your gaze.
"No more waiting," you whisper.
You don't let him pull you back. Instead, you align yourself over him, looking down into his burning eyes, and slowly, completely slide down, impaling yourself onto him. A deep, ragged sigh escapes you both as you finally capture the fullness of what he kept taking away from you.
You don't wait for him to set the pace. You grip his broad shoulders for balance and begin to move, chasing the release you've been denied. Riki’s hands grip your waist with a bruising, heavy force, guiding your hips as he thrusts upward to meet you, his entire body rigid with restraint.
The friction is overwhelming, the heat between you building to a fever pitch. You move faster, your head tilted back, crying out his name as the pleasure crashes over you like a tidal wave. You break first, your body shuddering violently as you clench around him, your internal muscles clamping down tight.
Even as your body trembles with the aftershocks, you don't stop. You keep moving, riding through the sensitivity, determined to bring him with you.
Riki lets out a loud, raw shout, his head snapping back against the wall as he loses his grip on his control. He thrusts up hard, one last time, and cums deeply inside the condom.
You ride out the final, pulsing friction of his release for a few more slow, heavy seconds before your strength finally gives out. You collapse forward, burying your face in the crook of his warm, sweat damp neck.
Riki’s arms immediately wrap around you, pulling you tight against his chest. Both of you lie there, chests expanding rapidly against each other as you slowly, quietly come down from the dizzying high of the night.
The silence of the room slowly returns, save for the quiet hum of the AC and your fading, heavy breaths.
As you lie there, listening to the steady, rapid beat of his heart beneath your ear, the reality of what just happened slowly settles over you. You look down at your hand resting on his chest, his fingers loosely tangled with yours.
There is no going back to the way things were. The careful, polite boundaries of the last month have been completely shattered, melted away by the heat of the night. But as Riki presses a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of your head, holding you just a little bit closer, you realize you don't want to go back anyway.
Everything was different now—and it was only going to go up from here.
recommendations for enhypen, &team, txt, and seventeen
⋆.˚ ENHYPEN
hyung line and multiple members
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ꕀ soft love by @mssishipi ⋮ wc ?k ♯ dark romance, emotional manipulation, psychological control, jay is older than reader, power imbalance, dependency, themes of submission and ownership. explicit content (smut): unprotected sex, implied breeding kink.
ꕀ apron and nothing at all by @ebitsujun ⋮ wc ?k ♯ husband!idol!jay x fem!reader, established relationship, married couple, unprotected sex, kitchen sex (on top of the counter), aftercare
ꕀ hypersexual by @simpjaes ⋮ wc 13.8k ♯ smut, inexperienced but pervy and dominant jake, he kind of has an addiction to jerking off, im not joking like he has a boner every twenty minutes it’s probably a medical issue but, reader is really sex positive and lets jake go absolutely insane on her
ꕀ watermelon sugar by @alleiraa ⋮ wc 2k ♯ established relationship, hint of fluff, jake is so cute and bf material, smut, oral sex, face sitting, nose riding
ꕀ cunnilinguist by @simpjaes ⋮ wc 16.1k ♯ jake x afab reader (ft. sunghoon as the mutual friend who bangs reader), a lot of waiting, like to the point it even annoyed me, very fluffy stuff , typical best friends to fuck buddies to “actually, I had feelings this whole time”, jealousy, jake is whiny and needy when he’s horny, reader thinks it’s cute. angst
sunghoon
ꕀ payback! by @mssishipi ⋮ wc 5.4k ♯ cheating, vouyerism (video), mention of double penetration, sunghoon smokes, jayke cameo, slut shaming, objectification, nymphomania implications. uhm. angst at the end, revenge unprotected sex, spitting, slapping, headlocking, throat fucking, mild pussy eating, squirting, power imbalance, creampie, dub conish | this is phenomenal like im fuming
ꕀ give them back by @ebitsujun⋮ wc 1.8k ♯ non-idol!sunghoon x fem!reader, established relationship, argument, p in v, unprotected sex (no), nipple play, degradation, praising | had me biting my nails
ꕀ through your teeth by @dollhoonki⋮ wc 5.6k ♯ heavy mentions of blood & biting/feeding (sunghoon feeds from the reader during sex), condescending dom!sunghoon x sub!reader, established relationship, hints of brat & brat tamer dynamics, degradation/humiliation, aginal fingering, handjob, semi public sex, exhibitionism, breath play, unprotected sex, creampie, hints of pain kink, hung!hoon, size & bulge kink, slight praise & crying, reference to marking/beard burn, some fluff and angst | hi i need dentist sunghoon in the most down bad terrible way ok?
ꕀ give me them babies by @ebitsujun ⋮ wc ? ♯ non-idol!sunghoon x fem!reader, established relationship, marriage dynamics (mentions of wife and husband), creampie, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, fingering, cum play, breeding, praising and degradation | idk i think i have a thing for domesticity
ꕀ how to lose a guy in 10 days by @swiftjay23⋮ wc 40.9k ♯ enemies to lovers trope, fake dating trope, romcom with teeth, college au, emotional slowburn, smut, angst, football captain!sunghoon x school editor!reader, multiple sex scenes, oral sex, belly bulge, creampie, praise kink, aftercare, emotional vulnerability during sex, breeding kink undertones, love confessions | i love a good college au with angst and fake dating
ꕀ mine by @raven-unkind⋮ wc 2.6k ♯ established relationship (married couple celebrating first anniversary), petnames (good girl, wife and husband used teasingly), reader is kinda a brat, backshots, bicep choking, bondage with a belt, check the rest of the tags out | ugh husband sunghoon
jungwon
ꕀ big girls do cry by @nisc0 ⋮ wc 1.7k ♯ hard dom!jungwon, sub!reader, swearing, a lot of teasing, unprotected sex, p in v, kitchen sex, tits grabbing, fingering, spanking, degrading, use of nicknames (needy girl, baby)
ꕀ number one rule by @lac4ygal ⋮ wc 36.6k ♯ brothersfriend!jungwon x sister!reader, fingering, oral sex, penetrative sex, praise kink, multiple orgasms, lots of sexual tension, secret relationship, betrayal of trust, family conflict (brief), emotional distance, alcohol use, arguing, brief physical altercation (not with reader), emotional angst, angst with happy ending
authors note: i didn't include heeseung, sunoo, and riki in this one because i haven't found any recent ones i liked .ᐟ
synopsis . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. when you're traveling with your idol boyfriend, things get a little pushy. thankfully, everyone mistakes you for just another staff member.
a/n: just a little idea that i obviously got too carried away with, oops !
the whole idea was already questionable from the start.
".. are you sure?"
the windows in the hybe office building overlooked the city of seoul. there were tall sky scrapers, idol-advertised cafes, and shops below that surrounded the huge company. you sat in one of the meeting rooms, sitting and talking with an enhypen staff member and their manager, yuki.
"isn't that going to be risky?" you questioned for what felt like the fourth time. the backpack sat heavy in your lap. "i can just take a separate car and flight.."
yuki leaned back in the chair, arms folded in a relaxed manner while speaking. "and make us coordinate another vehicle? just come with us."
the staff member nodded in agreement. "it'll be easier— plus, it's been discussed among us staff already.. you know we don't mind your presence, yn."
you hesitated. "ah.. i don't know."
"besides.." yuki shrugged. "ni-ki's been trying to convince us to let you travel with the group since the festival schedule was confirmed."
your eyes narrowed slightly.
"he did?"
"mhm."
you were silent for a second.
"okay," you let out a nervous breath. "i'll travel with you guys."
after the small discussion in the meeting room, you slipped out and went to sit in the lounge area of the floor where enhypen was having there dance practice. you sat patiently, waiting for ni-ki to come out.
soon enough, the sound of feet shuffling out of a room and towards a hallway was made aloud. some laughs were exchanged, along with nagging and complaints. you turned your head towards the commotion, seeing ni-ki leading the rest of the group. he immediately walked over towards you. the other guys waved and smiled at you as they turned the corner to take the elevator first. "hey, yn!" jungwon blurted out while walking away. ni-ki turned to the boys while he walked backwards towards you, "see you tomorrow morning."
you giggled as he made his way and sat on the couch next to you, instantly wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you in for a hug. "so.. what happened in the meeting?"
you glared at him. "you know what happened. they told me it was your idea."
ni-ki coughed. "oh.. surprise?"
~~~~
it was now the day.. the day you overthought for the past week.
upon arrival, you dressed up in all black (advised by staff) and wore a black mask and beanie that covered most of your face. you sat in the car with the rest of the other staff while ni-ki was in another car with the members and their manager.
on the ride to the airport, you got a text.
ni-ki <3: hello staff, make sure to protect me today. yk airport departures can get hectic.
yn: oh please😒
do i actually look like a staff member
ni-ki <3: u look more stylish with the beanie
yn: ugh
what if i told u i was trying to blend in with the staff
ni-ki <3: are u that scared
yn: i mean…... do u care abt ur career and wanna get caught?
ni-ki <3: u right
ok we just got here
be safe, ok?
watch where ur stepping and follow staff
ill try to talk to u on the plane
i love u
yn: okay i love u too
enhypen's car had arrived before yours, you were now pulling up behind their van in the terminal drop-off area.
hundreds of people stood outside in front of the entrance— you could even see some others inside already crowding. screams were heard, yelling, cameras clicking, and the bright flashes from the cameras did not help one bit. you took a deep breath before putting on your sunglasses to cover yourself up a bit more.. and also to help with the flashing lights.
as the car door opened, you followed the staff. you acted normal to the best of your ability, trying not to look bothered. your posture stood relaxed and your bag was slung over your shoulder. as you stood outside of the car next to the other staff, you slyly watched enhypen.
"hello! please look over here!" a photographer spoke aloud as the members stood in a line getting their pictures.
then after a minute or two, yuki nodded towards them. the boys started to walk as yuki lead the group. the rest of the staff you were with followed from behind, security also surrounded enhypen.
you couldn't lie, the whole thing was overwhelming from the start— but now being inside the airport— things were about to get worse.
"ni-ki!"
"i love you, heeseung!"
"look here!"
“sunoo!”
the crowd surged and phones lifted into the air.
people squeezed past one another trying to get closer.. which caused someone's shoulder to bump into yours, then another right after. and then— someone shoved from behind. you stumbled but caught yourself quickly. from the side of you, one stylist muttered.
"hey, be careful."
"i'm okay."
you weren't entirely though, of course. the amount of people and limited space made it very hard to not trip and face plant.
up ahead, ni-ki turned his head to look at you from behind. even behind his mask, you recognized what kind of look he was giving you— he was checking on you.
you gave him a tiny nod, to which he faced forward again.
you constantly looked at your watch on your wrist because it seemed like 10 minutes of just walking to the gate. throughout the whole time despite the pushes and interviewers constantly talking to the members, ni-ki continued to look back at you often.
finally, the destination to the security check was near— but that didn't make things better. the crowd bottlenecked near the entrances, still trying to interact with the group.
everyone then compressed together and a wave of people shoved forward.
a fan on the side of you stepped closer, trying to get a closer look at what you guessed was one of the members, which made you trip over her foot.
for a second, everything felt like it was in slow motion, dramatic enough. your balance started to shift, soon disappearing. your body tilted sideways—and for a serious moment—you genuinely thought you were going to embarrass yourself in front of everyone and eat the airport floor. a few squeals and gasps erupted from the crowd.
before you could fall— a hand slid across your upper back.
a single arm was now propping your upper body up, hand squeezing your right shoulder. it was firm and steady, somewhat panicked too. your left shoulder pressed into their chest.
and to your surprise, it was ni-ki.
ni-ki, who was near the middle of the members, somehow made his way towards the back to walk in front of you.
he kept you tucked in for barely two seconds without no words, before letting go and returning to walk like how he previously was
you blinked.
one staff member beside you looked over. "are you alright?"
"yeah..!” the nervousness in your voice was noticeable.
~~~~
now boarding the flight, you somewhat felt more relaxed being able to sit down. while the staff put the luggage away in the head-over bins and the passengers become distracted finding their seats, ni-ki casually stops beside your row.
he leans down just enough that only you can hear.
"are u tryna get me exposed?" he raised an eyebrow when he spoke in a cheeky voice.
you blinked. ".. me?"
"you almost fell."
"oh my g— you know that wasn't my fault."
"i know."
a tiny smile tugs beneath his mask.
".. just don't scare me like that again."
then he pats the top of your seat and keeps walking before anyone can look too hard.
your cheeks flushed under your mask. then, your phone chimed.
ni-ki <3: do i get no thank u? 😢
yn: thank you ki🩷
~~~~
by the time everyone landed.. twitter had every picture and video you could imagine.
@/ot7engeneluvr: ni-ki helping one of the staff members when she almost fell 🥹 he's seriously such a gentleman [1:video attachment]
@/ddeonu.xo Whoever that staff is i KNOW she was thankful because that crowd looked more insane than normal…. ☹️ENGENE do better!
@/enhypenarchives: NI-KI immediately noticed she lost her balance and caught her so politely, a MAN 😩 [4:photo attachments]
@/hoonie_.daily: people alwaysss say he's quiet but he notices everything
@/carpediem: she's SOOOO LUCKY!!!!!!
@/muffinmaster: how do i become her
you scrolled through the posts from your hotel room continuously. you were waiting for ni-ki to come back from rehearsal for the festival.
one clip had over three million views.
you watched yourself wobble and watched ni-ki's hand appear almost instantly— then watched him let go just as quickly.
to everyone else, it was like he had simply helped a staff member, but to you, it had been on instinct. it was the kind of instinct that comes from loving someone so much that your body reacts before your mind does.
soon enough, the door to the hotel room opened. ni-ki had his black mask on along with his sunglasses, dragging the bag he brought with him. he groaned as he dropped the bag on the floor near the front. he then started jogging towards the bed you were lying on, jumping on it— making the whole bed shake. you guarded yourself as he hugged you.
you laughed, pushing him away. "you're all sticky!"
"you like it."
"i do not. go shower."
"yes ma'am."
without no other complaints, he went straight to the bathroom to clean up.
after a bit, he came back with wet hair and a white tank top paired with his grey baggy sweats that hung low on his hips, making the brand name of the boxers that were under peak out.
he plopped right beside you on the bed, instantly pulling up the covers.
you smiled, then nudged him a bit. "did you see—"
he kissed you before you could finish.
"i did."
you gave him a look with furrowed brows. "you didn’t even let me finish. how do you even know what i’m talking about?"
he shrugged, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "because i love my girlfriend."
"hm, you're right."
"seriously though, i thought i told you to watch where you step?"
you groaned, throwing your head back against the pillows. "i tripped on a girl's foot because she was trying to step towards you guys. not my fault."
he scrunched his face. "okay, you're right."
you let out a laugh, peering at his phone as he opened up the weverse app.
"are you gonna go live?"
"why would i go live with you in the room?"
"i thought you didn't care." you teased.
ni-ki grunted, pulling up jay's current weverse live. "he's already live anyways." you opened your eyes a little wider. "join him, i promise i won't make any noise."
he took a moment before looking at you.
he gave you another kiss, soft this time on the lips. "one more kiss before i go live."
you smiled while lying down comfortably, going on your phone with your airpods in your ears.
ni-ki clicked the join button for jay's live, which jay immediately accepted it.
"hey!— oh?.. are you in your hotel room right now?" jay was pictured sitting on the couch, while ni-ki was laying in bed— only half of his face showing.
"i am."
jay nodded, puckering his lips out. "oh, alright."
"hi engene." ni-ki spoke while placing his hand on your leg, drawing small circles on your skin. your hand travelled down to his, giving it a small squeeze.
𝓘𝐍 𝓦𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 ❤︎ after crossing the line with your best friend, you finally reunite for a simple date to clarify things only for him to completely snap the second you're alone. (pt.1)
𝓖𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗭’𝗦 𝓝𝐎𝐓𝐄 ─── 𝜗ৎ smut. (mdni) || warnings ' needy!jake bsf2lovers obsessive behavior praise kink mutual pining cunnilingus face riding oral sex fingering creampie || talktalk ' i’m really sorry for the wait, a lot of people have been asking me for a part two so here we are, also i made this while i was sick so i hope it didn't turned out bad lol.
a whole week had passed since that morning, and the silence between you two had been nearly deafening. you’d exchanged a few scattered, hesitant texts mostly logistical check-ins or some tiktoks but you hadn't seen each other in person. the weight of what had happened was probably too much for you.
when jake finally texted asking to meet up at a quiet little bubble tea shop not so far from where you lived, your heart did a little nervous flip.
the café was small and cute, filled with the sound of an indie playlist and the scent of sweet tapioca and brewed tea. jake was already sitting at a corner booth when you walked in, staring down at his phone, his tall frame looking slightly awkward crammed into the small wooden seat. he was wearing a simple gray hoodie, his dark hair falling over his forehead, looking devastatingly handsome.
when he looked up and caught your eye, his posture instantly straightened.
"hey" he said, his voice soft as you slid into the booth opposite him. he pushed a plastic cup with a fat straw toward you. "i ordered your usual taro with boba, half sweet."
"thanks jakey" you said, offering a faint smile as you took a sip.
for the first ten minutes, the air was thick with a fragile awkwardness. jake kept fidgeting with his cup, his long fingers tearing the paper wrapper of his straw into tiny pieces. he looked like he wanted to jump out of his skin, his eyes constantly darting to your face, then down to your lips then back to his drink. the shameless pervert from a week ago seemed to have retreated behind a wall of pure anxious restraint.
"so," jake started, clearing his throat, his dark eyes fixing onto yours with a sudden serious intensity. "are we...how are you? you've been a little quiet this week."
"i was just giving us space to process," you admitted, swirling the pearls at the bottom of your cup. "it was a lot jake. we jumped from best friends to...whatever that was, in less than twenty four hours."
jake swallowed hard his jaw clenching slightly. "i know and i'm sorry if i freaked you out, i was so desperate that night y/n. i couldn't hold it in anymore but the last thing i ever wanted to do was make you feel weird around me."
he reached across the small wooden table, his hand hovering hesitatingly over yours before he finally plucked up the courage to let his fingers brush against your knuckles. the simple touch sent a little shiver through your spine.
"i miss you" he added, his voice dropping into a whisper, completely dropping any act of playing it cool. "fucking hell y/n. this week has been torture, i couldn't stop thinking about you. i couldn't even look at my couch without losing my mind."
a soft flushed giggle escaped your lips, the thick tension in the air instantly dissolving. "you're ridiculous dummy."
"i'm serious" jake insisted, a small hopeful smile tugging at his lips as he squeezed your hand tightly. "look, my apartment is like five minutes away. do you want to just... leave here and go back to my place? we can actually talk properly or just chill. no pressure i swear, i just want you near me."
you looked into his eyes, seeing the same devotion, warmth and desperate needy edge that had drawn you in from the start. "yeah" you whispered. "let's go to your place".
the walk to jake’s apartment was quiet, but it was no longer tense. his fingers were securely intertwined with yours the entire way, his thumb stroking the back of your hand gently.
the moment the front door to his apartment clicked shut behind you, the pretense of "just talking" completely shattered.
jake didn't even wait for you to take your shoes off. he threw his keys onto the entryway table, turned around and crowded you right up against the wooden door. his hands came up to frame your face, his palms warm against your cheeks, his dark eyes blown wide with an overwhelming hunger.
"i tried so hard to be normal at the café ugh" jake panted out, his forehead resting against yours, his hot breath fanning over your lips. "i swear i tried to be good y/n but having you right here, in my space…i'm losing it all over again."
"j-jake" you gasped, your hands automatically coming up to grip his waist feeling the tight, firm muscles beneath his sweater. "we were supposed to clarify things."
"we are clarifying" he insisted, his voice breaking into a needy, pathetic whimper as he leaned down and slammed his mouth over yours.
the kiss was instant, deep and intoxicating. jake tasted like sweet brown sugar and pure heat, his tongue sweeping past your lips, he pulled you flush against him, his hips pressing into yours until you could feel the unmistakable rigid length of his erection straining against his jeans.
"you're my girlfriend," jake mumbled against your mouth, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, lifting you up slightly so you were completely pinned between him and the door. "tell me you're my girlfriend y/n. tell me we're doing this for real now please please please, no more secret obsessions, just you and me."
"we're doing it for real" you whimpered back, arching into his touch, your fingernails digging into the fabric of his sweater. "i'm your girlfriend jake."
a groan escaped his chest at your words. he practically carried you to his bedroom, the two of you stumbling through the hallway in a mess of desperate kisses and frantic hands. he deposited you onto his bed, instantly stripping his hoodie off and tossing it somewhere across the room, leaving his broad chest exposed and heavy with ragged breaths.
he knelt on the mattress between your legs, his hands trembling violently as he reached for the hem of your shirt. "can i? please y/n let me look at you, let me worship you."
you nodded, lifting your arms as he pulled your shirt over your head, followed quickly by your bra. he smiled his gaze dragging over your bare skin with a dirty, worshipful reverence that made your entire body flush red.
he didn't waste a single second. jake slid down your body, his hands hooking into the waistband of your pants and underwear, tugging them both down your legs in one swift, impatient motion until you were completely bare beneath him.
he pushed your knees wide apart, settling himself comfortably between your thighs on his knees. the view of your soaked aching core open for him made his dark eyes darken even further, a shameless hungry grin stretching across his face.
"mmm you are so pretty for me," jake whispered, his voice dripping with thick, heavy praise as he leaned down, his hot breath brushing right against your sensitive core. "so wet, y/n. look at what you do to me, i'm going to eat you out until you can't even remember your own name."
before you could even respond, jake pressed his mouth directly against you.
a loud cry tore from your throat as his warm tongue made its first broad, wet swipe up your center, flattening out over your clit. jake groaned loudly against your skin, the vibration sending intense electric shocks straight to your core. he held your thighs open with a bruising grip, his knuckles white, completely refusing to let you pull away as he dove in with a wild intensity.
"jake, oh- fuck!" you screamed out, your fingers tangling into his dark hair, pulling him closer, pushing him harder against you.
he was relentless. jake ate you out with a needy, desperate rhythm, his tongue working over your clit in fast, slippery licks while two of his fingers slid deep inside your soaking cunt, pumping into you so good. he made the filthiest, most pathetic sounds into your lap whimpering, groaning and drinking you in as if he were a dying man in a desert.
"you taste so good y/n" jake gasped out against your slick skin, breaking his suction just a second to look up at you with blown-out, ruined eyes. his mouth was dripping wet, flushed pink. "so sweet for your boyfriend, suck my fingers baby. come for my mouth, let me taste how much you want me."
he slid his wet fingers out of you and pushed them straight into your mouth. you sucked on them greedily, the taste of your own arousal mixed with the salt of his skin driving you over the absolute edge.
jake went back to work with a smirk on his face, his tongue flicking over your clit in short, fast strokes, his thumb pressing hard against your sensitive spot. the coil in your stomach tightened so fast it made your vision go blurry.
"jakey~ i'm going to- i'm coming jake!" you cried out, your hips thrusting helplessly off the mattress, riding his face as the climax hit you with force.
jake didn't pull back. he ate you out through your entire orgasm, his mouth swallowing your cute moans, his tongue licking up every drop of your release with a dark, obsessive hunger until your thighs were shaking violently against his shoulders.
when he finally lifted his head, his face was flushed, his lips swollen and his eyes completely ruined with love and dirty satisfaction. he crawled up your body, hovering over you, his chest heaving as he stared down into your unfocused eyes.
"you're mine" jake panted out softly, kissing your nose, your cheeks, and then pressing his wet lips firmly to yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. "forever y/n, you're never getting rid of me."
"i don't ever want to" you whispered back, wrapping your shaking legs around his hips, pulling him down to finish what you started.
jake didn't give you a single second to catch your breath. the moment he pulled his wet mouth away from yours, his hand was already at the button of his jeans, undoing them with uncoordinated clumsiness that betrayed just how far gone he was.
"i can't wait anymore y/n. i need to be inside you right now" he groaned, his voice completely broken. he kicked his pants and underwear off in one quick desperate motion, his long rigid length springing free, heavily flushed and leaking at the tip.
he hovered over you, his eyes entirely fixed on where you were still slick and open for him, you were just too pretty.
"look at you" jake whispered, his voice trembling as he positioned his tip right against your entrance. "you're so wet for me. you look so damn good spread out on my bed like this. tell me you want me inside you, tell me please."
"jake put it in" you whined reaching down to grip his hips, pulling him forward. "please i need you so much."
jake let out a sharp breath at your words. he gripped your waist tightly, his hands digging into your skin and slowly pushed his hips forward.
the feeling of him filling you up slowly and completely was so fucking good, he stretched you so deliciously. jake moaned loudly, his eyes closing tight as he buried himself all the way to the hilt, his forehead coming down to rest against yours, his whole body shuddering from the intense heat of your core wrapping around him.
"fuck- y/n" jake whimpered against your lips, his hips beginning to roll into you with a perfect pressure. "you feel so tight and so warm nghh i love you so much. you have no idea how long i've dreamed about this, about being inside you like this."
"don't hold back" you gasped out, your hands sliding up his back, your nails digging into his shoulders as he pulled back and plunged in deep once more. "move faster p-please."
that was all it took to completely break his self-control.
jake began to fuck into you so wildly, his hips smacking hard against yours with every stroke. the bed frame creaked against the wall, but neither of you cared. he was panting directly into your ear, showering your face and neck with messy wet kisses.
"you're my girl" jake praised as his pace turned completely feral. "so good for me taking all of me, just like that, look at me y/n~ look at your boyfriend."
you opened your eyes, staring up into his ruined, adoring face as another wave of intense heat began to coil tightly in your stomach. jake's eyes were wide, blown-out and completely locked onto yours, his hands moving to lace his fingers with yours, pinning your wrists to the mattress as he rode you with absolute, unchecked devotion.
"jake i'm close again" you cried out, your hips arching up to meet every heavy thrust, your voice cracking under the pleasure.
"come for me my baby, do it" jake begged, his voice breaking into a whimpering gasp as he speeded up his rhythm, his hips hitting you at a relentless, perfect angle. "come all over me, let me feel you squeeze around me."
the second climax hit you like a wave, crashing through your entire body and making your thighs lock around his waist. the tight squeezing of your inner muscles immediately pushed jake right over the edge.
jake let out a cry, his entire body going stiff as he shoved himself as deep inside you as he could go. he came right after you, spilling himself thick and warm inside you, his breath coming in ragged, broken sobs against your neck as he collapsed completely on top of you.
jake stayed buried deep inside you, his heavy body pressing you down into the mattress, his arms wrapped tightly around your frame as if he were afraid you would vanish into thin air if he let go for even a second.
he slowly lifted his head, his face flushed, his hair a total mess, and his eyes shining with an overwhelming fluffy warmth. he pressed a soft sweet kiss to your lips then your nose then your cheek.
"i'm never letting you leave this bed" jake whispered softly, a completely smitten grin spreading across his lips. "we're staying right here forever."
summary — in which, to his dismay, you ignore your boyfriend for a week straight. how could you!
content n warnings — bf!heeseung x fem! reader. yearninggg. naaasty making out. dom!hee + sub!reader. fingering. handjobs. blowjobs. unprotected p in v (wrap it up!!). squirting. creampie. mean!dom hee if you squint? but lowkey u don’t even have to squint.
8 Days. 8 Whole days since he’s last spoken to you. Heeseung feels as though he might just die. He’s in complete and utter agony without you. Yet, here you were, having the time of your life in Miami. The situation would have been funny under literally any other circumstance, but right now, he’s not in the state of mind to find anything comedic.
How did the two of you end up in this situation, you may ask? Well, it all started when a certain someone hadn’t met a certain compromise.
You’d originally agreed to go on a girls trip, you and 3 other friends on a week-long getaway. In theory, it sounded amazing. The only issue was the “no boyfriends” rule. Now, it wasn’t that you were overly clingy or obsessive. No, never that. Any sane person would miss their boyfriend after a week of being apart!
This is when said compromise came into play. You and Heeseung had agreed to spend as much time together before you had to leave. However, that all went to the dump when he also agreed to spend the rest of the week in the studio. But, in his “defense”, he invited you!
Naturally, you tagged along, trying to make the best of it. But as the week dragged on, your patience wore thin.
It was on the last day that you finally snapped, silently calling an uber and leaving without a word. To say he was dumbfounded was an understatement.
He came home to you packing your luggage, mid squeezing your skincare products into smaller, travel-sized containers and tossing them into your toiletry bag.
“Baby? Do you want any help?” he asked curiously, to which you just walked past him. You were acting as if he wasn’t even there.
“I’m sleeping over at my friends house. We’re going to the airport together in the morning.” you finally spoke, zipping up your suitcase and grabbing your backpack. With that being said, you’re quick to gather the last of your things and exit your shared apartment, leaving him standing there in shock.
And so it goes... the start to his week in hell. He starts off annoyed, finding your avoidant antics a bit childish.
It’s at the 4 day mark that his annoyance simmers into worry. He’s worried sick. You’re in another country and you won’t answer your phone? No yeah, he’s practically spiraling, and he makes that apparent to you. 45 missed calls and god knows how many texts in just an hour.
It’s not until day 5, when you post on your instagram that he realizes everything is just fine.
He instantly clicks on the notification, anxiously tapping his foot as his phone loads. Suddenly, he’s faced with several photos of you having, what seems to be, the time of your life. Photos of you partying, drinking, dancing, swimming, you name it. Not to mention the occasional photos of your pretty face that he wishes you would have sent him first.
It’s when he reaches the second-to-last picture that his heart drops.
To anyone else's endless scrolling, it’d seem like a regular fit check. But the more he analyzes it, the more he notices. The way your tits are practically spilling out your shirt, the way your ass hangs out of your mini-skirt. And if they really looked close enough, anyone could notice the peeking pink lace of your panties. A very petty move on your part, if I may add.
He honestly thinks a photo of you in a string bikini would’ve been better. But he’s not mad, of course not. He could never be mad at you. So why are you still mad at him? And more importantly, why are you torturing him like this?
He manages to survive two more days of agony until you arrive. He’d promised to pick you up from your friend’s place. So, you have to talk to him, he thinks.
Wrong! Your silence doesn’t even resume in the car. You’re too stubborn for that.
The minute he sends a sweet text, a simple “hi baby i hope u had fun. can u send me the address? :)” all you reply with is a pinged address. Not even bothering to greet him back!
Next, he’s pulling up and getting out the car to greet you. Instead, he’s greeted by the sight of your suitcase on the sidewalk while you’re already hopping into the passenger seat. He groans internally, popping the heavy baggage into his trunk and sulking his way back into the car.
You’re focused on the view outside, resting your head against the window as you both drive in silence, when his hand slides over your lap and onto your thigh. You glance down for a split second before rolling your eyes and returning your gaze to the road outside.
He’s insistent, though. Rubbing and kneading at your plush skin the rest of the way home. You try to stay distant but you can’t help the way your thighs clench a few times.
It’s when you both get home that he realizes something. It’s his turn to stay quiet, in order to get what he wants. So, that’s what he does.
Everything he does from now on is calculated. Bringing your stuff down, opening the door for you, letting you walk into the apartment first. He even goes out of his way to put your luggage away and make you something to eat.
With each act of service, you loosen up. The time and distance between the both of you slowly starting to catch up.
You’re sat at the counter, thoroughly enjoying the ramyeon he made you, when he heads to the living area. You watch with wide eyes as he sits, spreading his legs and adjusting his hips. And if that wasn’t enough to get you going, he leans his head back against the couch with a small groan. Your eyes zero-in on the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat and every ounce of self-restraint drains from your body. He knows exactly how to turn you to putty in his hands.
Having had enough, you near stomp over to the living room, stopping in front of him.
He looks up at you with a puzzled expression before raising an eyebrow. "Yes?" he asks casually. Wayyy too casually.
You feel your eye twitch at his audacity but shake your head nonetheless. And to make matters worse, he decides to ask “Was the food okay?”
“It was good, thank you” you answer, taking a seat beside him. He nods and turns his attention back to his phone. A good two minutes of him scrolling passes before you decide to stoop back down to his level.
You move to lay down, opting to rest your head on his thigh, dangerously close to the growing tent in his sweats. He lets out a shaky breath and drops his phone beside him to be able to rake his fingers through your hair.
It should be ridiculous, how you go out of your way to make exaggerated hums and mewls of satisfaction. Instead, it just sends blood rushing to his cock. Oh how he’s missed the sounds you make for him.
“Fuck,” he breathes in frustration. “Do you know what it’s been like without you? Not being able to see you? To touch you?”
It’s so sudden, the way his hand tightens in your hair and pulls you up. A pained gasp falls from your lips that he’s quick to swallow, his lips crashing yours. He laps at your mouth, sucking at your tongue and biting your bottom lip.
God, it’s filthy. Saliva, from both your mouths, leaking down your chin and onto your shirt. You’re struggling to catch your breath when he pulls back, collecting a glob of spit on his fingers and shoving them into your mouth.
Your whines of protest are quickly shut down when he uses his free hand to squish your cheeks, giving him more leverage over your face. Or more specifically, your mouth. His fingers push down and back on your tongue, forcing a choked gag out of you.
You whimper as he drags his fingers out your mouth and you can feel him throbbing beneath you. He must be aching after so long, you think. Poor thing. With a gentle hand, you toy with the waistband of his grey sweats. Your nails graze his lower tummy a few times, making him shiver and twitch under you.
“Baby, f—fuck, please stop teasing” he rasps, looking down at you with those perfect, pleading doe eyes. And you comply. How could you not? Especially when he looks at you like that.
He lifts his hips as you lower his pants, just enough to pull him out. You give him a few, experimental pumps but his cock is so wet and sticky with pre that you’re struggling to get a good grasp on him. You tighten your hold—making a tight, makeshift hole for him to fuck.
Your hand feels like heaven to him. His head is tossed back as strings of loud whines and groans leave his pretty lips. You watch in awe for a second; offering the tip a sticky kiss and smearing his arousal over your lips before taking him in your mouth.
Now, he’s fucking into your mouth, making you gag every time he hits the back of your throat. Your mouth is just so wet and warm that he can’t help it. He’s missed this, missed you.
The sounds he’s making above you have your mind reeling. And before you know it, you’re moving a hand down to play with your achey clit.
“That’s it, s—shit. Play with your pretty pussy just like that.” he urges, twitching in your mouth. You continue to rub tight circles on the sensitive bud, moaning around him and sending vibrations around his length. The feeling leaves him spilling in your mouth with a hand tangled in your hair and a drawn out moan.
You feel your own heat pool in your tummy, the band of your orgasm pulling taut before he pushes you onto your back. Gently, of course!
“Sorry, baby. Need to be inside you,” he huffs, hiking your leg up and lining himself up with your needy cunt. He’s lost all composure, fucking into you with lust-driven thrusts. This must be what it means to be pussy drunk.
He thumbs at your clit, opening you up further to reach deeper. You swear you feel him in your stomach as you’re reduced to a writhing, moaning mess beneath him.
“Hee—! S’too much!” you whine, clawing at his back. He dismisses your concern, licking and nipping at your neck in a way that’s sure to leave marks. Your orgasm washes over you before you can even process. His cock drilling against your cervix leaves you breathless and gushing around him. That’s all it takes for him to finish inside you. It’s not often that you squirt, after all.
The slick squelches and plaps of your mixed arousal should make you cringe. But you’re so drunk off his cock, you can’t bring yourself to think of anything else. And Heeseung? He’s not any better. He’s already came twice. Yet, he’s still fucking into you like there’s no tomorrow. It’s then that you realize you’re in for a looong night.
genuinely just cooked up some bullshit. ALSO, i’m not a big fan of the full-sized text but this one’s pretty long & i didn’t want anyone to be straining their pretty eyes 🙂↕️
in which ° a song starts playing and suddenly you cant keep your hands off each other?
warnings ° smut (mdni 18+), threesome, eiffel tower position, lowk perv niki, oral (f&m.rec), backshots, two dihh at the same time, swearing, creampie, multiple rounds, unprotected sex, drunk sex, niki is refered to as riki, lmk if theres more !!
taglist ° @ikeuscape @simjaeyunslut open !!
word count ° 1.4k
🫧claudias whisper ° first part is lowk shit but wtf, this may have been in my drafts for too long, likes and reblogs appreciated and like stay cool twin 🤍
The hum of the city drifted through the open window as the three of them crowded onto the sofa, glasses clinking and laughter spilling out between sips of the the cheap vodka you'd been nursing all night.
You felt the heat of Jungwon’s thigh press against yours and Riki’s elbow brush your shoulder, each contact sending a shiver down your spine.
You could smell the citrus of Riki's cologne mingling with the Victoria's Secret perfume you’d sprayed earlier, and the scent of Jungwon’s skin, warm and slightly musky, made your breath hitch.
Your brown hair fell in loose waves, the freshly dyed strands underneath catching the low light whenever you turned your head. While taking a sip, you tucked a strand behind your ear, the movement only drawing more of the boy's attention to your hair.
Jungwon leaned in close enough that his breath tickled your ear. “You look like you’re about to melt,” he murmured, voice low and commanding.
Riki smirked, his hand sliding down to rest on your hip. “We’ve been waiting for you to finally let go,” he said, his tone edged with arousal.
The music drifted through the air, a slow song with lyrics that made you blush- coughing slightly as the first few lines played out.
“Wow-" you pressed your hand to your chest, trying to stop yourself from choking, "that's really something..."
"Something wrong?" Jungwon mumbles, taking another sip of his drink as his other hand drifted toward your hair as he played with the strands.
"No," you shook your head, cheeks flushed as you breathed heavily, "the song just.... is it just me or is it really hot in here?"
"I think its just you, maybe you should strip off so youre cooler," Riki perked up, smirking as his eyes trailed across your body, eyes dark with arousal.
"Don't be a pervert," you shoved him to the side, "Anyways, what i meant was, the song... it just doesn't make sense how anyone could even do that position. I can't picture it... Like the girl is like-" you muttered as you attempted to horribly show what you meant with your hands, "-and the boy is... you know what, nevermind."
"You dont get it?" Riki laughed, his hand sliding toward your thigh to give it a squeeze, "It's not that hard to understand, pretty."
Jungwon’s grin widened, as he nodded eagerly, “We’ll show you how it works.” He gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.
Riki’s hand tightened on your thigh, his own a burning sensation, sending heat through your body.
"Ha ha, very funny," you muttered sarcastically before looking between the both of them, "youre not joking are you? This is gonna be a long night."
Jungwon grabbed your hand, pullimg you up and guiding you to stand between them. He turned you so you could face Riki, then pressed his chest against your back, his hands sliding up to cup your chest through the thin fabric if your shirt.
Moving inwards, Jungwon undid the buttons of your shirt, pulling it off as Riki did the same to your skirt- leaving you in only your underwear. Only then did they strip off too, standing bare in the apartment.
Riki stepped in front of you, his eyes locking onto yours as he reached up to cup your chin. "Open up for me," he whispered, thumb tracing the edge of your bottom lip as he leaned in close.
You obeyed, opening your nouth for him to kiss you- his tongue dancing with yours as spit dripped down their chins.
All the while Jungwon kept playing with your tits, toying with your nipples as he sucked on the skin of your shoulders and neck.
Breaking the kiss for a breath, Riki whispered against your ear, “Now its time for the fun part."
He guided your head down, fingers gripping the base of his cock, pulling you by the hair towards the thick head.
You stretched your mouth open as wide as you could, taking the length of Riki’s cock deep, feeling the hot skin slide over your tongue as you began to suck, your cheeks hollowing with each eager bob. Riki moaned low, his hips thrusting slightly as he fucked your mouth, his grip on your hair tightening almost painfully.
Meanwhile, Jungwon positioned himself behind you, his cock slick with precum as he rubbed it against your entrance. He didn’t waste time, pushing in with a firm, relentless thrust that filled you completely.
You moaned around Riki’s cock, the vibration sending a shudder through him. Jungwon set a brutal pace, his hips snapping forward, each thrust driving you harder over the edge. The room filled with the wet sounds of sucking, the slap of skin on skin, and their ragged breathing.
“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Jungwon grunted, his voice thick with heat. “Take it all, baby.” He leaned forward, his chest pressing against your back, his mouth finding the nape of your neck, biting and sucking hard enough to leave a mark.
Riki, feeling your throat spasm around him, pulled your head back just enough to look into your eyes. “Look at me while you choke on my cock, angel," he commanded, his thumb rubbing circles on your cheekbone, the blue highlights in his hair catching in the light. You obeyed, your gaze locked onto his, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.
The intensity built, a coil tightening low in your belly. Jungwon’s thrusts grew more frabtic, his breath hot against your ear. “I’m gonna fill you up,” he growled, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. Riki’s own rhythm faltered as he felt the familiar swell at the base of his cock, his balls tightening.
With a guttural groan, Jungwon came first, his cum spilling deep inside you, hot and thick, lushing you so far over the edge that you came too, liquid spilling around his heavy cock.
You screamed around Riki, the sound muffled, waves of pleasure making your vision blur and your thighs shake.
Riki followed seconds later, his release thick and heavy as he filled your mouth, his cum spilling over your tongue, some dripping down your chin.
You swallowed obediently, the salty taste mixing with the lingering heat of Jungwon’s load still pulsing inside you.
Both men eased back, their chests heaving, sweat glistening on their skin. Riki brushed a stray strand of your hair away from your face, his thumb tracing the shadowy line of your jaw with a quiet tenderness. “You took it so well,” he murmured, voice softer now.
He leaned in slowly, pulling you up and capturing your lips in a gentle kiss, his tongue exploring yours as his hands roamed over your breasts. You moaned into his mouth, the remains of your orgasm still humming through your nerves.
When they finally broke apart, breathing hard, you felt a fresh surge of desire coil tighter than before. You glanced at Jungwon, then at Riki, seeing the same hungry fire reflected in their eyes. “I…" you sighed, dropping back onto the sofa behind you.
"Thats okay, take your time, sweet," Jungwon dropped to his knees in front of you, pressing kisses along your calf and upwards.
You reached down, gripping his chin in your hand as you brushed your thumb against his cheek. Pulling him up, you pressed a sweet kiss to his lips, their tongues moving against each other sloppily.
Riki sat between your legs on the floor, pressung kisses on your thighs, slowly easing upwards until his timgue was buried in your pussy. "So wet for me, my love," he muttered agaisnt your cunt before pushing his tongue inside again.
You whimped into Jungwon's mouth, one hand pushing Riki's head down while the other held Jungwon's hand- squeezing tightly as the pressure built up.
The coil snapped in your lower belly as hot spurts of cum spilled out of you and onto Riki's tongue- who lalped at it furiously.
Riki’s hips stuttered in the air, before ropes of his own cum shot onto the carpet below them.
Riki’s breath hitched, his hips stuttering as he neared release. “Fuck…" he gasped, pulling back to breathe.
"That... was something..." you whispered, panting in the low light of the room.
Riki stood up, attempting to sit beside them, but instead collapsed on top of them, sweat dripping from his body. The music was a low murmur in the background. Jungwon rested his forehead against yours, his breath ragged. “You’re fucking incredible,” he whispered, his voice hoarse from the intensity.
Riki, still catching his breath, trailed his fingers along the red streaks in your hair, his touch possessive. “Again?” he asked, a sly smile dancing across his feautures.
You, eyes half‑lidded, heart pounding, could only nod, the aftermath of the last few rounds spinning through your head as Jungwon pushed his hand between your thighs.
"Oh, this is going to be fun."
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