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.
CONTENTS : MDNI 18+ ⋆ slow-burn ⋆ friends to lovers ⋆ smut with plot ⋆ mutual pinning ⋆ alcohol mentioned
taglist : @amyishere123 @444pondju @did
PAIRING : roommate!riki x afab!reader
WORDCOUNT : 15k
z ⸝⸝ From this request ᝰ.ᐟ
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.
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.
CONTENTS : MDNI 18+ ⋆ slow-burn ⋆ friends to lovers ⋆ smut with plot ⋆ mutual pinning ⋆ alcohol mentioned
taglist : @amyishere123 @444pondju @did
PAIRING : roommate!riki x afab!reader
WORDCOUNT : 15k
z ⸝⸝ From this request ᝰ.ᐟ
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.
(롱샷).ᐟ K.OY x fem!reader
IN WHICH — Ohyul loves to sneak you into his room when everyone's asleep. Unfortunately, one night, you two got caught red-handed by Woojin, who casually barged in when the two of you were in the middle of something.
⤷ ゛ ˎˊ˗ C/W. making out . Woojin caught you devouring each other . and Ryul being a menace .
masterlist
1,1k —fluff, slightly suggestive.
ᢉ𐭩 The atmosphere of the dorm was calm and quiet —only the busy sound of the city outside was heard as white noise lulling everyone deeper into their slumber in their soft mattresses.
Except for you, though, you were tiptoeing your way to your second bedroom —Ohyul's room.
The complete silence of the dorm was disturbed by a clicking sound coming from Ohyul's door. There he was, poking he's head through the door, looking left and right, making sure nobody else was there.
Once you were inside his room, you were immediately pinned to the hard surface of the door as his lips hungrily collided with yours. It took no time for you to melt into the kiss, pulling him deeper as your fingers gripped his hair.
"We shouldn't be making this much noise." You muttered after pulling away from the kiss.
Ohyul has been sneaking you into his room while the other residents of the dorm remain clueless about this. The thing is, Ohyul doesn't know how to do it quietly —he would push you onto the wall, creating a thud sound, and he couldn't keep his mouth shut on wild nights.
You were questioning the other members, like... how did they not hear any of this?
Ohyul's lips were back on yours, completely ignoring your concern. His hands traveled down to your hip, gripping the bare skin underneath the silk material before lifting your body.
You put your legs around his waist, never breaking the kiss while you were on it. He slowly placed you onto the soft mattress of his bed, caging you underneath him as he kept on devouring your lips.
"I love you so much." He muttered in between kisses.
The sneaking started just after the group got their own dorm. You always have something going on with Ohyul since trainee days, and things escalated on the night of your debut.
That day, you caught Ohyul glancing at you the whole day. The tension between the two of you became unbearable, and on that very night, you two broke the tension, letting buried feelings take over your bodies as your lips connected for the first time. Every night has been a mission to not get caught ever since.
Well, until this night.
Click...
"Hyung, have you seen my—"
You froze, Ohyul's lips stopped their rhythm.
The silence was thick, it was almost suffocating. You slowly turned your head to the source of the voice to find Woojin standing still, his mouth agape mid-talk —then you looked away from the door, burying your head under a pillow.
On top of you, Ohyul sighs. He turned his head to Woojin without moving his body from on top of yours.
"What?" Ohyul casually said with a slightly annoyed tone.
Woojin blinked, swallowed, then scratched his nape while looking everywhere but the bed.
"Uh- my sweater— nevermind." Woojin muttered.
The poor boy was very flustered at the sight in front of him. He knew both of you liked each other, but he didn't know that the two of you were far ahead of him.
"On the couch. Living room." Ohyul stated, earning a shaky nod from the younger boy before he closed the door with a soft click.
Ohyul sighed once again. He grabbed the pillow that was covering your flustered face before he cupped your jaw, kissing the corner of your mouth gently.
"When will they learn to knock..." He whispered to himself.
You looked into his eyes, clearly seeing his annoyance in them.
"I'm going to sleep, okay?" You said, caressing his cheek with your thumb.
Ohyul shook his head before burying his face on your chest.
"Sleep here. Everyone will know by the morning anyway." He said, voice muffled by the material of your pajamas.
It was true —knowing Woojin, he wouldn't keep his mouth shut around the other members. So if they all would know anyway, why bother going to your room if you can be here, in his arms?
"Alright." You muttered into his hair.
You were flustered, sure. But you also felt content because if the whole group knew, it meant no more sneaking. The thing is, it was the teasing that you couldn't stand, and it happened immediately in the morning after.
You were eating cereal silently on the kitchen counter while scrolling through your phone, then Ryul showed up with a stupid smirk on his face, earning an eye roll from you as you kept on munching your cereal.
"So you got caught red-handed ~" he cooed.
"Shut up." You spat, taking your bowl to eat it peacefully in the living room. Ryul tailed you, still with the annoying smirk planted on his face.
"You know, we knew you snuck into each other's room every night." He stated.
You froze, slowly turning your head to glare at him. He scoffed at you before flopping himself on the couch next to you.
"Don't look at me like that. It's your boyfriend's fault he couldn't keep his mouth shut." He said, emphasizing the word 'boyfriend'. Looking at your flustered face before leaning in closer to your ear. "The walls are thin, you know." He whispered.
You punched his sides, earning a half-laugh, half-groan from him. You were super embarrassed, knowing the fact that probably everyone in the dorm heard things they should not be hearing.
Just as you were about to throw another punch, Ohyul shows up, still half asleep, glaring at the two of you in what seems like jealousy.
Ryul threw his hand up in defense. "She's all yours." He said.
"Fuck off," Ohyul said in annoyance.
Once Ryul left the room, Ohyul immediately sat down next to you, already stealing your cereal as one of his hands snuck on your waist.
"You're up early." He said, hugging you from the side as he snuck his face to your neck.
"I was starving." You chuckled. He turned on the TV, still snuggling with you as you ate your cereal.
"I swear to god." A voice said.
Woojin rolled his eyes at the sight. He did not want to face both of you, especially after what he saw last night. Yet here he is, once again at the crime scene, looking at you being all lovey-dovey.
"Get used to it," Ohyul stated without even looking at Woojin, earning an annoyed groan from him and a giggle from you.
Since that 'incident', Ryul wouldn't stop teasing the two of you. Woojin keeps being the victim, always there when the two of you are showing affection.
Then there's Louis, who's completely unaware, and all of you planned on keeping it that way.
IN WHICH ─── Heeseung teaches you everything that your cheating boyfriend couldn’t. He’s been waiting for the day you would realize that he could do better and much more than his best friend.
𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : smut (MDNI), porn with a bit of plot
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : switch!heeseung, switch!reader, mention of alcohol, smoking, swearing, cheating, manhandling, heeseung is a gentleman despite his attitude, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, praising, light degradation, oral sex (f. receiving), light edging, orgasm denial, use of nickname : baby, my pretty girl
𝐰𝐜 : 7.9k {7.977}
❕# pheeew I speed run that shii. I goon to the pic on top every night—WHO TFFFFF SAID THAAAT????? Guys I need this man to put me in my place like RIGHT NOW. This song represents him so well. Ugh he’s mister dadaman fr
INSPIRED BY : What You Need - The Weeknd
(+ Slow It Down - Ty Dolla $ign)
What could be worse than going to the restaurant with your boyfriend a week after you found out that he’s been cheating on you? Oh right, you don’t know. Ethan orders for himself without asking what you're having first, catches himself halfway through, and asks you anyway. You already know what you want because you always know what you want here.
His phone sits face up next to his water glass. It lights up twice in the first ten minutes. Both times he glances down, thumb hovering, before setting it back exactly where it was. "Sorry," he says, not looking up from the screen the third time. "Work thing."
You nod like that made sense. You've heard about Heeseung's terrible taste in restaurants, about his coworker’s dog, about traffic on the way here ; three separate stories he's started and abandoned mid-sentence because his attention keeps sliding sideways toward that phone.
"You could put it away," you say, tired enough that it comes out flat.
"I know. I will." He actually doesn't.
The waiter brings your food and Ethan eats fast, he’s already somewhere else in his mind. You ask about his sister's move to Daegu and get half an answer before his phone buzzes again and he actually picks it up this time, thumb moving across the screen, brow furrowed like the message requires real concentration.
You watch him read it. You watch his jaw do a small tightening, and you already know before he opens his mouth. "I have to go in," he says. "They need someone to cover a shift. I'm really sorry, I know we just got here."
Work doesn't call people in at 9:47 at night for office emergencies. You've known things like this for months now, small inconsistencies that don't line up if you actually stack them next to each other, which is why you stopped stacking them.
"Now?" you ask anyway, knowing how it will end up.
"I wouldn't if I didn't have to." He's already reaching for his wallet, already half out of his seat. "I'll make it up to you. Promise."
You tell him it's fine and to go, that you'll finish eating and head home. He kisses the top of your head, distracted, already checking his phone again as he walks toward the door, and you sit there with a plate you've lost interest in and a boyfriend-shaped absence across the table.
Your phone buzzes. Heeseung.
Heeseung [9:54 PM]
you good?
saw ethan's location just switched to "downtown" lol at 9pm
You stare at the message for a second too long before you type back.
Y/N [9:54 PM]
he had a work thing apparently
Heeseung [9:55 PM]
mhm. sure he did
You almost put the phone down.
Y/N [9:55 PM]
please don’t start
Heeseung [9:57 PM]
wasn't gonna say anything. i'm very good at not saying things
Y/N [9:57 PM]
you're the worst at not saying things btw
Heeseung [9:58 PM]
rude.
i've been holding back SO much tonight and this is the thanks i get
You find yourself smiling at your phone, alone at a table for two, food going cold in front of you. Even though you couldn’t care less.
The waiter comes by to clear Ethan's plate and asks if you need anything else, and you're halfway through saying no when your phone buzzes again.
Heeseung [10:05 PM]
where are you?
sending someone to get you before you sit there being sad and pathetic
Y/N [10:05 PM]
wdym I’m not sad and pathetic
Heeseung [10:06 PM]
you're eating alone at a restaurant your boyfriend just ditched. what else could it be?
address please.
You give him the name of the place mostly because arguing about whether you're pathetic or not would take more energy than you have left right now. Fifteen minutes later Heeseung walks in wearing a jacket you’ve seen plenty of times, scanning the room until he finds you, and drops into the seat across from you like he's been there the whole time.
"You didn't have to come, you know." you state.
"I know that very well. I wanted to see you sad and pathetic in person." He picks up the menu even though you're clearly done eating, flips through it without really looking. "Also I was bored."
"Comforting."
"I try." He waves the waiter over before you can stop him, orders a drink for himself, and when the bill comes a few minutes later he reaches over and takes it before you can even move your hand toward it.
"Heeseung."
"Yeah?"
"Give me that."
"No." He's already pulling out his card, not even glancing at the total.
"I can pay for my own food."
"Never said you couldn't." He hands the card to the waiter without looking at you, and something about how easy it is for him : he acts like it costs him nothing and like it’s something he has to do but does it naturally. The inside of your stomach is tingling and obviously not because of the food you had earlier.
"I'm being serious, I don't need you to—"
"I know you don't need me to." He lifts his gaze and looks at you with less joking in it than a second ago. "I want to. Learn how it’s not the same."
"That's not the point."
"What's the point, then?"
You freezes, not an answer or a talk back could reach your mind, and he grins like he's won something.
"Aw, look at that," he says. "I missed that face."
"I fucking hate you."
"You don't. You're just annoyed you can't win an argument about who gets to pay for your dinner, which, by the way, is a very weird thing to be stubborn about."
"It's called having self-respect."
"It's called being difficult for no reason, but sure, we can call it self-respect if that makes you feel better." The card comes back and he signs without checking the receipt, tucks it away, and stands up casually. "Come on. I'm parked badly and I will get towed."
"You fucking asshole."
"You keep saying that like it's news." He holds his hand out, not really an offer so much as an assumption you'll take it, and you do.
He gets in to start the car, and has a cigarette lit before you've even got your seatbelt on. The window cracks an inch, cold air cutting through the smoke smell that's already filling the small space.
"You know those are terrible for you," you say.
"Groundbreaking information. Thank you." He takes a drag, one hand on the wheel, not pulling out of the spot yet.
"I'm dead serious. You should stop."
"I should do a lot of things." He glances at you sideways, smoke curling out the window. "You should stop pretending you don't know your boyfriend's cheating on you. We're both just walking around not doing things we should, I guess."
The car goes quiet except for the engine idling. You look straight ahead at the brick wall of the restaurant, at nothing. "I don't know what you're talking about," you say in a breathy tone.
"Sure you don't." He's not looking at you now either, tapping ash out the window, voice even, done pretending along with you. "His location switches off every other night. He checks his phone at dinner like it's gonna bite him if he doesn't. Tonight he left you at a restaurant for a 'work thing' that doesn't exist, and you didn't even ask him to explain it properly. You just let him go."
"That's not—" You stop and start again. "It's complicated."
"It's really not." He finally pulls out of the spot, one hand on the wheel, cigarette still between two fingers. "You don't want to deal with it. Which, fine, your business. But don't sit there and tell me you don't know, because I’m aware for the phone thing tonight too, and you didn't look surprised. You looked like someone who's done the math already."
There isn't a version of an answer that isn't just agreeing with him. So silence is the best option you could have at this moment.
"I'm not trying to make it worse, okay?" he says, softer, some of the edge gone out of his voice. "I just don't really feel like watching you sit through dinners like that and pretend it's normal."
"Why do you even care?"
He takes another drag and lets it out slow.
"Good question," he says finally without elaborating further, yet you don’t want to know more of it, because you're not sure you want to hear the answer any more than he seems to want to give it.
He drives you around the city for a while then turns left instead of right at the light that would've led back toward your apartment. The road opens up eventually, streetlights getting sparser, and then there's the smell of salt before you see the water. He parks in a mostly empty lot facing the beach, cuts the engine, and the quiet that follows feels different from the quiet in the restaurant parking lot. It’s less loaded.
"Why are we here?" you ask.
"I needed air that doesn't smell like your ex's cologne." He's already pulling his jacket off, tossing it into the back seat. Underneath he's just in a black tank top, and it's warm enough out that it makes sense, summer nights here never really cooling off the way you'd expect. "Also I like it here. Don't make it a big deal."
"He's not my ex."
"Give it time." He says it lightly, already opening his door, not wanting to hear you argue back. "Come."
You get out as sitting in the car alone would feel worse than following him. The sand is cool yet the air isn't, and he walks ahead of you toward the water without checking if you're behind him, hands in his pockets and shoulders loose.
"You could've warned me we were going to the beach," you say, catching up. "I'm in the wrong shoes for this."
"You're in shoes. That's more preparation than I did."
"You're wearing actual sneakers."
"Correct. Preparation." He glances back at you, the corner of his mouth pulling up. "Take them off if you're gonna complain the whole time."
"I'm not complaining, it was just a statement."
"Same thing, coming from you."
You shove his shoulder, and he barely moves as he laughs, low and light, as your annoyance is the most entertaining thing that's happened to him all week. The water's dark ahead of you, waves you can hear more than see, you can feel the knot in your belly loosening up.
"So this is the fresh air you talked about," you say, kicking your heels off like he told you to, sand cold between your toes. "Very noble of you, considering your lungs are probably black at this point."
"They're totally fine."
"You just smoked an entire cigarette in a closed car ten minutes ago."
"The window was cracked."
"Barely an inch."
He stops walking. He turns to look at you, and there's a specific kind of offense on his face, you can see that’s it’s fake. "Okay, you don't get to smoke-shame me and then act like you weren't the one who wanted to eat a hundred tons of sugar last week."
"That has nothing to do with your lungs."
"It's about hypocrisy, Y/N." He's already crossing his arms, which should've been your first warning. "You wanna talk about people ruining their bodies, we can talk about those candies."
"That's not remotely the same thing, and you know it."
"I don't know anything. I'm just a guy with fucked up lungs, apparently, standing here, getting attacked—"
"I didn't attack you, I made a freaking statement—"
"—run," he says, it's not really a warning and it's already happening, he's moving toward you before the word's even fully out. You don't think and you just run, already laughing three steps away, sand slowing you down and you probably look embarrassing and isn't because he's not much faster, both of you stumbling across the beach. He's close behind you, close enough that you can hear him laughing too, breathless, yet you don't look back and just keep going toward nothing in particular, the water loud beside you and your own heartbeat louder, making you forget why you were sad in the first place.
"Slow down!" you yell back at him, though you're the one speeding up. "Your lungs can't take this!"
"They're taking it fine, actually—" He's gaining on you, voice rougher now from the running, the laughing, both. "Better than yours, probably, all that complaining you do about stairs—"
"I don't even complain about stairs—"
"You complained about stairs yesterday. To my face."
"That building has no elevator, that's a legitimate—" You don't get to finish, because his hand catches your arm, hard enough to throw your balance off, and you're laughing too much to fight it anyway.
"Got you—"
"You didn't—"
He did. Your feet tangle in the sand and his do too trying to compensate, and there's a second where it could've gone fine, where you both could've just stopped, but now you're both going down, and he twists at the last second so he hits the sand first and you land half on top of him, knocking whatever air he had left in those apparently terrible lungs straight out of him.
"Okay," he wheezes, staring up at the sky, chest moving fast under you. "Okay, that one's on me."
You're still laughing, you can't stop, face pressed near his shoulder, sand in your hair, in your clothes, everywhere. "You caught me on purpose."
"I caught you very badly on purpose."
"Your lungs are so fucked."
"Please stop talking about my lungs." He's laughing too, you can feel it more than hear it, his chest shaking under where you're braced against him, and neither of you moves to get up right away, and it takes a second before either of you remembers there's a reason you're supposed to pull away from this.
"Great," you say, still not moving off him. "Now I'm covered in sand. This was a bad idea."
"It was my favorite plan I've had all week."
"You've had bad judgment all week, then." You finally push yourself up, brushing sand off your arms, off your legs, a losing battle. He sits up slower, still catching his breath, watching you try to fix your hair with zero success.
"I'm also thirsty," you add.
"There's water in the car."
"Warm water in a car that smells like cigarettes doesn't count."
He stands, holds a hand out to pull you up, and doesn't let go right away once you're on your feet. He looks at you for a second, he seems like he's deciding something. "Come to mine. Shower, water, whatever you need. It’s better than dropping you off covered in sand at eleven at night."
"Heeseung, I don't need—"
"You keep saying that word like it changes anything about what I'm gonna do anyway." He's already walking back toward the car, keys spinning once around his finger. "Come on."
His apartment turns out to be nothing like you expected, which annoys you a little, because you'd built some idea of his place in your head ; messy, small ; and instead the elevator opens straight into something enormous, floor-to-ceiling windows facing the city, furniture that looks like it costs a hundred racks, which does.
"This is insane," you say, standing in the doorway, still not fully inside. "You live here? Alone?"
"Don't sound so betrayed about it."
"I pictured you in, like, a studio apartment with a mattress on the floor."
"Wow. Thank you for that image of me." He drops his keys on the counter, shrugging like the apartment doesn't warrant comment. "Bathroom's down the hall, second door. There's towels in there. I'll find you something to change into that isn't full of sand."
You still haven't moved from the doorway, taking in the size of it, the quietness of a place too clean to belong to someone who bickers the way he does. "How do you even afford this?"
"Very boring answer. Ask me another time." He's already disappearing down the hall, calling back over his shoulder. "Towels. Bathroom. Go before you track sand into my very expensive rug."
You linger by the counter instead of heading for the bathroom yet, arms crossed, sand still clinging to your ankles. "Okay, but—when am I getting home tonight? I have work in the morning."
He reappears from the hallway with a folded shirt and shorts in hand, tossing them onto the couch for you. "Never. You live here now. I've decided."
"Heeseung."
"It's already, what, eleven thirty? You're covered in sand, your options are a shower here or a shower at home in forty-five minutes of traffic smelling like a beach." He shrugs, entirely too pleased with his own logic. "I'll drive you back whenever. Or you sleep on the world's most comfortable couch and I take you home before work. Very generous offer, considering my lungs are apparently on their way out."
"That's not what I asked."
"Yeah, and I answered better questions in my life." He nods toward the hallway, unbothered. "Go shower. I'm not driving anywhere until you stop smelling like low tide."
You get out of the shower first, dressed in the shirt and shorts he left you, both too big, sleeves falling past your hands. When you find him in the kitchen he's just in sweatpants, no shirt, hair still wet, and you stop in the doorway far too long before catching yourself.
"What?" he says, not even looking up from the glass of water he's pouring.
"Nothing. Put a shirt on, it's weird."
"It's my apartment, and it's hot. I'm not putting a shirt on for you." He slides the glass across the counter toward you, finally glancing over, and whatever's on your face makes something shift in his. "Are you flustered right now?"
"No."
"You're a little flustered."
"I'm annoyed." You grab the glass just to have something to do with your hands, and drink half of it too fast. "Some warning would've been nice."
"A warning for what, my own kitchen?"
"For the— " you point directly at him, at the general fact of him, "—situation."
"There's no situation. This is just what I look like." A shit eating grin appears on his face, fully enjoying this, leaning against the counter. "You can look away if it's that distressing."
"I'm not even looking."
"You're looking right now."
"I'm looking at you to argue with you, and you look so dumb right now."
"Sure it is." He pushes off the counter, grabs a pack of cigarettes off the counter, and heads for the balcony door without the will to talk back. You follow, mostly out of spite, and the air outside is warm, the city spread out below, making the apartment's size make a little more sense. He lights up, leaning on the railing, and you stand a few feet away, arms crossed against a chill that isn't really there.
The smoke drifts toward you on the next breath of wind and you cough slightly, covering the lower half of you face with your hand.
His eyes stay on the city while a silent chuckle almost escapes him. He shifts slowly, moving to stand on your left instead, angling himself so the smoke pulls away from you and out over the railing. A quietness installs itself between you.
He flicks ash over the railing, and glances at you. "You want a drink or something? I've got wine, I think there's soju somewhere too."
"Wine would be good."
He disappears inside for a minute, comes back with two glasses and the bottle tucked under his arm, he sets everything down on the small table between the balcony chairs. You sit, and he drops into the chair across from you, pouring without measuring, more in yours than his.
"How did we even meet?" you say, mostly to fill the silence, turning the glass by its stem. "Like, before Ethan and I were even together. I feel like I always just knew you as his friend."
"You did. That's exactly what happened." He takes a sip to give himself time to recoil on the memory. "We met at that party his roommate threw, where it had the terrible speaker system. You spilled something on my shoes and apologized for like ten minutes straight."
"I did not apologize for ten minutes."
"You did. I still remember the shoes, they were new."
"You're exaggerating."
"I'm really not, I still have them." He leans back, glass balanced on his knee. "Then Ethan started talking about you nonstop for like a month before he actually got the balls to ask you out. It was unbearable. I heard about your laugh before I heard you laugh."
You laugh a little despite yourself. "That's embarrassing," you say.
"For him, mostly. I didn't say anything." He swirls the wine, not quite looking at you now. "You were different back then. I mean—Not different-different. I just think that you were, like, less careful about everything."
"Careful how?"
"You used to argue with me for fun. Now half the time you're arguing with me because you're arguing with something else and I'm just the nearest target." He says in a chuckle. "I liked the fun version better. Not that this version's bad, though."
You take your time before replying. Your fingers slowly roll the glass between your palms as you watch the wine reflect the light, letting the silence fill the space while you think.
"I didn't notice it happening," you say finally.
"Fair enough. That's usually how it goes."
He gives you time. He sits beside you in comfortable silence, his glass resting against his knee while the distant sounds of the city soften the moment.
"You know he doesn't deserve the amount of patience you're giving him, right?" he says eventually, not looking at you when he says it, trying to make it easier for both of you. "Whatever he's doing, wherever he's going at nine at night—you're sitting there making excuses for him. I watched you do it tonight."
"It's not that simple."
"It’s obviously not simple, we both know that. I'm saying you deserve someone who doesn't make you rehearse excuses for him in your head before he's even said anything." He looks over at you, his gaze serious. "You're smart. You're funny, when you're not exhausted, which lately is rare. You shouldn't be spending this much of yourself on someone who’s always checking his phone at a dinner with you."
"You don't know everything that's going on, so stop—"
"I don't need to know everything. I already know enough." He sets his glass down, leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees. "I'm not trying to convince you to do anything, okay? I just don't think you hear it enough, so I'm saying it. You deserve better than what he's giving you. That's it."
You look down at your glass instead of at him, throat tight from what you’ve been holding since you found out.
"Like it matters to you, anyway." you mumble quietly.
He lets the silence settle between you once more. Taking a deep breath, he seems to consider his next words carefully, revealing nothing before he's ready.
"It does," he declares finally. "I'm not gonna make it more complicated than that tonight."
You let the subject rest, and he doesn't volunteer anything more. Together, you sit quietly, listening to the muted sounds of the city while the wine slowly warms in your hands. Somehow, the silence says more than words you could find.
After some time, you both decided to watch a movie to ease everything out. Now, you’re curled up on the couch, the bottle of wine you two polished off leaving a soft warmth in your veins. The TV flickers with some late-night drama that you couldn't force yourself to be invested in even if you wanted to. Your head feels pleasantly light, and whatever usually fuels your arguments has faded, leaving behind nothing more than lazy teasing.
A new scene unfolds on screen : dark lighting, tangled sheets, the actors lost in a heated and sensual moment. The woman arches under her partner’s touch as his hands glide slowly over her body ; caressing, teasing, worshipping. The sounds are low and breathy, filling the room.
You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, and the wine makes you bold. You glance at Heeseung beside you. "I…I’ve never done that with Ethan," you murmur, voice coming out as a whisper. "Not like that, at least."
Heeseung’s head snaps toward you, eyes wide with real shock. "Wait—what? Never? Not even close?"
You shake your head, biting your lip as embarrassment and frustration mix with the alcohol. "No. It’s always been…rushed. He enever wanted to explore things or try new things. Like he doesn’t have the patience for it." Your gaze lingers on the screen for another second before returning to him. "Do you…know how to do that? Like, really touch someone like that?"
Heeseung keeps his eyes on you, his usual smirk nowhere in sight. Something unspoken passes between you. "Y/N…" he starts, voice low and careful, a flicker of heat in his eyes.
You shift slightly, scooting an inch closer on the couch. "Show me? I want to know everything. Touch me the way he’s touching her. Please?"
He swallows, and finally slowly nods, setting his empty glass aside. "Alright. But tell me when it's too much, okay?" His voice has dropped, rougher now. He reaches out, starting gentle. His fingers brush along your arm, tracing slow lines from your wrist up to your shoulder. "Like this," he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. "Pay attention to how your skin feels under my hand." His palm flattens against your collarbone, sliding down your side in one smooth caress, mapping the curve of your waist through your shirt.
You shiver, the wine amplifying every touch. Emboldened, you lean into him, and he scoots closer too, until your thighs press together. His other hand joins in, fingertips grazing your neck, then trailing down your chest with feather-light pressure.
"Tell me what feels good," he instructs softly, his hand venturing lower, stroking along your hip and the top of your thigh. "Here?" He squeezes gently, then lets his palm glide back up, bolder now.
The space between you disappears as you both shift nearer, bodies turning toward each other. Your hand finds his chest, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat, and slide up to his neck. His breath grows heavier. His fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, caressing bare skin ; warm, exploratory, following the line of your ribs.
You look up at him, lips parted. He meets your gaze for half a second before closing the distance. Tongues meet, slow and deep at first, turning more insistent as your fingers thread into his hair. He pulls you closer, one hand firm on your lower back while the other continues its caress, sliding higher under your shirt.
His kisses grow fiercer, nipping at your lower lip before soothing it, bodies pressing together on the couch as the moment spirals deeper.
You automatically swing your leg over, straddling Heeseung’s lap as the kiss deepens. Your knees sink into the couch on either side of him, bodies aligning perfectly. He groans softly into your mouth, his hands finding your waist instantly, gripping you to steady the sudden movement. "Y/N…" he breathes against your lips, pulling you closer.
His fingers dig in a little too hard at first ; eager, hungry from the built-up tension ; and you yelp sharply against his mouth, a quick flash of pain cutting through the haze of wine and heat. He pulls back immediately, eyes wide with concern, his grip loosening right away. "Shit—sorry," he murmurs. One hand gently rubs the spot on your waist where he’d gripped too tightly. "Didn’t mean to. You okay?"
You nod quickly, still breathing hard, the sting already fading into the warmth. "Yeah…I’m fine. Don’t stop."
Relief flashes across his face, quickly renewed by that same heated look. He leans in again, capturing your lips in another urgent kiss. his time, there's a new caution in the way he touches you. His hands glide slowly along your sides, lingering as though giving you every chance to pull away before one drifts lower. He cups your ass firmly, squeezing with just the right pressure ; possessive, appreciative ; as he pulls you tighter against him.
You moan softly into the kiss, rolling your hips instinctively. His tongue slides against yours, deeper and more demanding now, while his fingers knead your ass, encouraging the movement. The kiss turns messy, breathless, both of you lost in the heat as his other hand stays anchored at your waist, guiding you closer. The undeniable spark between you push everything else away.
You’re both breathing heavily when Heeseung pulls back just enough to speak, his voice low and gentle against your ear. "Come off my lap for a second, baby," he murmurs, hands sliding soothingly along your thighs. "Turn around for me."
You nod, a little dazed from the wine and the intensity, and shift off him. He helps guide you, turning you so your back is to his chest. He settles back against the couch, spreading his legs and pulling you between them until you’re nestled against him, your back flush to his front. His arms wrap around you from behind, one hand resting on your stomach while the other strokes your thigh.
"Spread your legs for me," he says softly, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "As far as you can. Let me see you."
You obey, parting your thighs wider, heat flooding your face as the position leaves you open and exposed. Heeseung hums approvingly, his fingers teasing lightly along the inside of your thigh, drawing slow circles that inch higher but never quite touch where you’re starting to ache.
"My pretty girl," he whispers, the praise making you shiver. His hand keeps stroking closer and closer until you’re squirming. "Has he ever fingered you?" he asks almost hesitantly, he already suspects the answer.
You shake your head, voice small. "No…He never did. He only ever made me suck his dick and...he was so rushed to put it in."
Heeseung exhales sharply, a mix of disbelief and irritation flashing through him. "Fuck…alright. I’ve got you."
He’s careful ; painfully so. His fingers slide under your clothes, gently parting you before one fingertip circles your entrance, gathering wetness. "Tell me if it hurts or if you want me to stop," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your neck.
Slowly, he eases one finger inside you, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to the stretch. He moves gently, curling carefully, his other arm holding you against his chest. "Breathe, Y/N. I’ll make it good for you."
He adds a second finger only when you start rocking back against his hand, still cautious, focusing entirely on your reactions as he begins to pump them in a sluggish rhythm. His thumb finds your clit, teasing light circles while he fingers you with patient strokes.
You gasp sharply as Heeseung’s fingers suddenly hit harder, the angle shifting and sending a jolt of pain through you. Your body tenses, a small cry escaping your lips.
He freezes instantly, eyes widening in panic. "Shit—sorry, sorry," he blurts, quickly easing his fingers out of you. "I didn’t mean to—fuck, are you okay? I’m so sorry, Y/N." He repeats the apology under his breath, one hand gently rubbing your thigh while the other hovers uncertainly, clearly rattled.
You catch your breath, the sting fading fast in the haze of alcohol. A smirk slowly tugs at your lips as you look back at him over your shoulder. "Are you really sorry?"
"Yes," he says immediately, voice earnest. "Of course I am."
You turn around fully to face him, still sitting between his legs. "Then get on your knees in front of me."
He blinks, then lets out a short disbelieving scoff, assuming you’re joking. "What? Right now?"
Your expression stays serious, eyes locked on his. "I said get on your knees."
The smirk on his face fades when he realizes you mean it. After a beat of hesitation, he slides off the couch and drops to his knees on the floor in front of you, looking up at you with surprise and growing desire.
"Come closer," you order softly.
He shifts forward on his knees until he’s right between your spread legs, hands resting tentatively on your thighs as he waits for your next instruction, breath a little uneven.
You lean back slightly, looking down at him. "Lick it."
Heeseung’s eyes darken instantly. Without another word, he leans in, pressing his mouth to you. His tongue drags slowly through your folds at first ; warm and soaked ; before he settles into long hungry strokes, focusing on your clit with just the right pressure. His hands grip your thighs to hold you open as he licks you with focused intent, the earlier apology shifted by eager obedience.
You let the pleasure build for a few moments, your hand threading into his hair as his tongue works you over with growing confidence. But then you tug gently, pulling him back.
"Stop." you say, voice breathy yet firm.
Heeseung pulls away immediately, lips glistening, looking up at you with hooded eyes and a hint of confusion. His chest rises and falls quickly.
You smirk down at him, still holding his hair. "You’re not going to continue until you say sorry…while you’re eating me out."
He blinks once, processing the command, then an almost amused smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "You’re serious?"
You raise an eyebrow, waiting.
He leans back in without further protest. His tongue returns to you before he murmurs the words right against your core, the vibrations sending sparks through you. "I’m sorry," he breathes, licking a long stripe up your folds. "Sorry for being too rough…" Another slow swirl around your clit. "I won’t hurt you again."
He keeps going, alternating between soft apologies and dedicated licks, his voice low and muffled as he eats you out. "Sorry, baby…fuck, you taste so good." His hands grip your thighs a little tighter as he buries his tongue deeper, still repeating quiet "sorry"s between every lick and suck, the blend of submission and hunger making the moment even more intense.
You lean back further, letting him worship you like that ; his apologies vibrating against you with every stroke of his tongue.
You slide your fingers deeper into his hair, gripping it firmly as you pull him closer against you. Heeseung’s eyes flutter half-closed ; sleepy and hazy with lust ; his ears flushed a pretty shade of pink from the heat and the wine. The sight makes something wicked twist in your lower belly.
"Well, would you look at yourself," you tease, voice breathy but filled with amusement. "On your knees, ears all pink, eyes looking half-asleep like a fucking loser."
He pulls back just enough to look up at you, lips shiny and swollen, a lazy smirk spreading across his face despite the grip you have on his hair. His sleepy eyes narrow playfully. "Loser?" he scoffs, breath hot against your skin. "Says the one who’s been missing out for months and is now dripping all over my face. If I’m such a loser, why are you pulling my hair like you never want me to stop?"
You tug his hair a little harder in response, and he lets out a low, amused chuckle, vibrating right where you need it.
"Keep talking shit and I might actually stop," you warn, though your hips roll forward, chasing his mouth.
Heeseung’s smirk only widens, pink ears burning brighter. "Yeah? Then I guess this loser better shut up and keep saying sorry…" He dives back in with renewed energy, tongue pressing flat and slow, murmuring one last muffled "Sorry, baby" against you before focusing entirely on making your teasing backfire.
You feel it building fast ; the tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter in your core while his tongue works you relentlessly. His sleepy eyes stay locked on yours whenever he pulls back for air, pink ears still burning, that smug little smirk never fully leaving his face even while he’s buried between your thighs.
Your grip in his hair tightens, hips rolling against his mouth as your breathing turns ragged. "Heeseung—fuck, I’m—"
Right as the orgasm crests, right as you’re about to tip over the edge, he pulls back completely. His mouth leaves you with one last slow, teasing lick before he sits back on his heels, lips glistening, looking far too pleased with himself.
You let out a frustrated whine, thighs trembling. "What the hell—"
He chuckles lowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes are sleepy-lidded, but sparkling with mischief. "Not yet," he murmurs, voice rough. One finger lazily traces up your inner thigh, barely brushing where you need him. "You were talking so much shit earlier about me being a loser…thought you could handle a little teasing."
You glare down at him, still panting, the denied orgasm leaving you aching and frustrated. He leans in again, pressing the softest, almost innocent kiss right above your clit, then another on your thigh ; carefully avoiding where you’re throbbing.
"What is it?" he teases, voice low and amused. "All worked up and squirming. Were you really about to cum that fast on my tongue? Cute."
He blows a gentle stream of cool air against your wet folds, making you jolt, then gives you one torturously light lick before pulling away again.
"Beg a little nicer and maybe I’ll let you finish," he says with a smirk, pink ears still flushed as he watches your reaction, clearly enjoying edging you way too much.
Your hand tightens in his hair again, torn between wanting to pull him back in and wanting to throttle him for stopping.
You’re still catching your breath on the couch, legs shaky from the cruel edge, when Heeseung rises from his knees. He climbs over you, hovering above your body with his hands braced on either side of your head. His face is flushed, those sleepy eyes dark with want as he looks down at you.
You bite your lip, heart racing. Slowly, you lift one leg and slide your foot up between his thighs, pressing the sole against the obviously hard bulge straining through his sweatpants. You rub it teasingly with your toes, pressing on it with gentle pressure, feeling him twitch under your foot.
His breath hitches sharply, hips jerking forward into your touch. "Y/N," he warns, voice low and strained.
You look up at him with soft, fakely innocent eyes, a sweet little smile playing on your lips even as your foot continues its lazy; pressing, rubbing, tracing the outline of his cock through the soft fabric.
"What?" you murmur softly, batting your lashes. “You edged me…seems only fair I play with you a little."
He lets out a shaky laugh, forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder for a moment. His arms tremble slightly as he holds himself up, clearly fighting the urge to grind harder against your foot.
"Fuck, you’re evil," he breathes, with only affection and raw desire. His eyes flutter half-closed again as you keep rubbing him so gently, the contrast between your soft gaze and the teasing pressure of your foot making him groan quietly above you.
The air between you crackles, thick with tension as he hovers there, letting you toy with him.
You’re still looking up at him with those soft eyes when he suddenly pulls back. He stands just long enough to shove his sweatpants and boxers down in one motion, kicking them aside. His cock springs free, hard and flushed. Before you can fully process, he’s back on the couch, gently turning you around again so your back is pressed to his chest ; just like earlier.
You blink in confusion, still wobbly. "Heeseung, what are you—?"
While staying silent, he wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you firmly against him. With his free hand, he guides his cock, rubbing the thick head slowly up and down your soaked core. The pressure is heavy and hot as he glides it between your folds, coating himself in your wetness, letting you feel every inch of his length sliding against your sensitive skin.
"Just feel it," he murmurs against your ear. "Gotta get you used to me first."
The grind makes you whimper, your body tensing as the blunt head nudges at your entrance. Then he pushes in ; slow and gentle. The stretch is intense. You yell out at the burn, your hands flying back to grip his thighs.
Heeseung stops instantly, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "I know, baby, I know," he whispers soothingly, voice dull and tender. "You’re doing so good." One of his hands slides down to caress your lower stomach in comforting circles, trying to ease the discomfort. "I’ve got you, Y/N. I’m right here."
He stays still inside you, whispering sweet nothings against your skin while his fingers keep gently rubbing your stomach. Gradually, the pain starts to melt into a deep ache. When your breathing evens out a little, he begins to move. His thrusts are slothful at first but quickly turn sloppy, messy and uncoordinated from the alcohol and the overwhelming heat of the moment. Wet sounds fill the room as he rocks into you from behind, one arm banded around your waist while the other continues caressing your lower belly.
"Fuck…sorry, it’s—shit, you feel too good," he groans, the pace erratic and desperate, hips snapping up into you with needy and imperfect strokes.
His thrusts are getting sloppier, hips stuttering as the dizziness makes his pace messy and desperate. Next, on one particularly eager push, his cock slips out completely with a wet pop, loud enough to be heard in the entire living room.
You squirm hard in his lap, a needy whimper escaping you at the sudden empty feeling. Your body instinctively rocks back, searching for him again.
Heeseung lets out a breathy chuckle against your neck. "Easy, baby…"
He grips the base of his cock and gives it a couple of lazy slaps against your soaked cunt; wet smacks making you jolt and moan. The head nudges your clit with each tap, fooling you until you’re trembling.
And without warning, he lines himself up and pushes back in with one thrust, burying himself deep into you cunt. You gasp at the sudden fullness, your back arching against his chest as he groans deeply.
"Shit…that sound," he mutters, voice rough. His arm tightens around your waist, holding you in place while his other hand returns to caress your lower stomach. He starts moving again, still sloppy and uncoordinated, but deeper now ; each thrust punctuated by the wet sounds of skin meeting skin.
He kisses along your shoulder, whispering hotly, "You’re so fucking wet…hear how you take me?"
His hips snap up messily, cock sliding in and out as he keeps you pressed tight against him, lost in the pleasure of it all. You’re lost in the flow of his cock sliding in and out of you, the filthy sounds of your pussy filling the room with every sloppy thrust, when your phone starts ringing on the coffee table. The screen lights up with Ethan’s name.
You notice that it doesn't stop Heeseung from doing his work. If anything, his hips snap up harder, driving deeper as he reaches over and grabs your phone. You try to protest through a moan, but he answers the call and puts it on speaker, setting it down nearby.
"Hey, man," he says casually, voice only slightly strained as he keeps fucking you tirelessly from behind. The squelching sounds are loud and clear.
Ethan’s voice comes through, sounding worried. "Heeseung? Where’s Y/N? She’s not home yet and she’s not answering her phone. Is she with you?"
"Yeah, she’s right here," Heeseung replies, one hand gripping your hip tighter as he thrusts up into you again, making you bite down on your lip to stifle a moan. "She’s a little busy though."
You squirm in his lap, embarrassed heat flooding your face even as pleasure keeps building. Heeseung leans closer to your ear and whispers, "Let him hear how wet you are," before picking up the pace.
The obscene, slick sounds of his cock plunging into your soaked pussy echo clearly through the speaker.
Ethan pauses. "What the fuck is that sound? Is she okay?"
Heeseung lets out a low chuckle, still thrusting deeper. "She’s more than okay. I’m fucking her right now, bro. That’s the sound of her pussy taking my cock."
You moan despite yourself as he hits a particularly good spot, unable to stay quiet.
"Can you hear that?" Heeseung asks tauntingly, angling his hips so the wet noises get even louder. "Hear how soaked she is? Those are her moans too. She’s been missing this for a long time."
Ethan’s voice cracks with shock and anger. "What the hell, Heeseung?! Y/N—!"
Before Ethan can finish, Heeseung cuts him off, still buried deep inside you, voice low and possessive as he speaks directly into the phone :
"You might be what she wants…but I’m clearly what she needs."
He hangs up quickly, tossing the phone aside. His arms wrap around you tighter as he resumes fucking you with intensity, mouth pressed to your neck.
"Focus on me, baby," he murmurs hotly. "Just feel how full you are."
The sounds continue as he drives into you, the interruption only making him more eager. You barely have time to process the call ending before your phone starts buzzing repeatedly on the table. Message after message from Ethan lights up the screen ; vibrating angrily one after another.
Heeseung glances at it but doesn’t stop. His hips keep rolling up into you in that same relentless pounding, cock stretching you open with every wet thrust.
"Damn…he’s blowing up your phone," he mutters with a dark chuckle. One arm stays banded around your waist, holding you firmly in place on his lap while his other hand reaches down to rub slow circles over your clit.
He keeps fucking you through the mess. Your phone vibrates again and again ; texts popping up rapidly.
You moan helplessly, eyes fluttering as pleasure overrides everything else. "Heeseung…he’s—"
"I don't fucking care," he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. "Let him text. You’re mine right now."
He angles his hips and thrusts up hard, making you cry out as the head of his cock hits that perfect spot over and over. The phone keeps buzzing but Heeseung only fucks you harder, the sounds of your bodies utterly drowning out the vibrations.
His hand on your lower stomach presses down gently, making you feel every inch of him sliding in and out. "Hear how loud your pussy is for me?" he groans, voice rough. "Keep taking it, baby. Just like that."
You’re a mess ; moaning, squirming, gripping his thighs as he continues pounding into you from behind, unbothered by the nonstop stream of notifications. The phone eventually goes silent for a few seconds only to start vibrating again. Both of you wouldn't care less. Heeseung’s only focus is the way your walls clench around him as he fucks you through it all.
So that's what you've been missing out all this time.
The heavy, throbbing ache in your muscles is the only thing anchoring you to reality as you unlock the door to the shared apartment. The air inside is cool, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off your skin after such a brutal workout session. Every step feels like a chore, your gym clothes sticking to you like a second, suffocating skin.
You drop your bag by the entryway with a dull thud. All you can think about is the shower, the thought of hot water washing away the sweat and exhaustion is the only motivation you have left.
You head straight for the bathroom, already peeling off your damp clothes. The quiet of the apartment surrounds you, making you think you’re completely alone. You turn the handle, letting the water run until the room begins to cloud with thick, heavy steam, blurring the edges of the mirror.
Stepping into the glass enclosure, you close your eyes and let the spray hit your face, sighing as the tension begins to melt from your shoulders.
But the click of the bathroom door cutting through the sound of rushing water tells you that you aren't alone anymore. Through the fogged glass, a tall, familiar silhouette moves closer.
The heavy glass door slides open, letting a draft of cool air slice through the thick steam. Riki stands in there, still in his damp gym gear, his dark eyes locked onto you through the fog. The contrast between the cool air and the heat of the bathroom makes you shiver.
"Why didn't you wait for me?" he asks, his voice low, cutting easily through the roar of the rushing water.
"Sorry... I just felt so disgusting," you murmur, wiping the water from your eyes as you look back at him.
"Yeah, yeah..." he mutters, a slow, knowing smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.
He doesn't step into the water right away. Instead, he reaches down to grab the hem of his soaked workout shirt. You watch his muscles tense as he pulls the damp fabric up and over his head, tossing it onto the bathroom floor outside.
Next comes the waistband of his shorts. He slides them down his legs, peeling away the last barrier of his clothes until he's completely bare, the cool bathroom air raising goosebumps on his skin.
He finally steps over the ledge and into the tight enclosure with you. The heavy glass door slides shut behind him with a definitive click.
The shower feels instantly smaller. The air grows thick and suffocatingly hot as he steps directly into your space, crowding you beneath the spray. The water immediately drenches his hair, sending slick tracks running down his chest as he corners you against the wet tile.
The heat radiating off his bare skin is intense, you can feel the adrenaline from his workout rolling off him in waves.
"Riki," you breathe out. You place your hands against his chest, feeling the steady, rapid thud of his heart beneath your palms. "Let's just... let's wait until after we shower. We just got back. I want to actually get clean."
A low, rumbling chuckle vibrates in his chest. He doesn't step back. Instead, his hands come up to rest on the tiled wall on either side of your head, effectively trapping you between the cold stone and his burning body.
He leans in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his breath hot and damp. "What's the point of waiting? We're just going to get all sweaty again anyway."
The confidence in his voice sends a sudden prickle of heat straight down your spine. Before you can even formulate a protest, his right hand leaves the wall, his fingers tracking a slow, deliberate path down the side of your neck, over your collarbone, and down to your waist. His grip is firm, and his fingers are digging into your hip with a possessive pressure that leaves no room for argument.
"Besides," he murmurs, his gaze dropping to watch the water track lines down your skin, "you look too good right now to make me wait."
He crowds you further, his thigh sliding between yours, forcing your legs slightly apart. The friction of his wet skin against yours is dizzying. You try to draw a deep breath, but the air is thick with steam and his familiar, intoxicating scent. Your hands shift from his chest to grip his shoulders for balance as your knees already feel a fraction weaker.
"Riki, seriously, my legs are already like jelly from the workout," you try to reason, though the breathiness of your own voice betrays you.
"Good," he whispers against your lips, his thumb stroking a slow circle into your hip bone. "Then you won't mind letting me hold you up."
He doesn't give you another chance to speak. His mouth comes down on yours, hot and demanding, effectively silencing any remaining logic. It’s not a gentle kiss, it’s a direct continuation of the intensity he brought home from the gym. He tastes like the clean rain of the shower water mixed with a fierce, burning hunger that immediately sets your pulse racing.
As the kiss deepens, his hand slips lower, his fingers slick with water and heat as they find the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You gasp into his mouth, a sudden jolt of electricity shooting through you as his touch grows bolder, migrating firmly toward your core.
"Riki—" you whimper against his lips, your fingers tightening into the muscles of his shoulders as he begins to tease you with a slow, agonizingly deliberate rhythm.
"Shh," he breaks the kiss just enough to mutter against your skin, his jaw tight as his fingers work with a devastating precision. "Just take it."
He uses his other hand to grip your chin, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to look into his eyes. They are dark, blown out, and entirely focused on your reactions.
Every slide of his fingers makes your breath hitch, the water pouring over both of you only heightening the slick sensation of his touch. He knows exactly where to press, his thumb finding your clit and applying just enough pressure to make your hips twitch involuntarily.
"You're already so wet," he rasps softly, a dark smirk playing on his lips as he watches your expression fracture. "See? I told you there was no point in waiting."
You try to hold yourself steady, but the combination of your exhausted muscles and the relentless, expert movement of his fingers is too much. He accelerates the pace, his fingers deeply inside you while his thumb relentlessly drives you toward a peak.
"Please," you gasp out, your head dropping back against the wet tile as your hips helplessly chase his hand.
"Please what?" he says, his voice a low and commanding. He doesn't slow down. If anything, his movements become more aggressive, his fingers fucking you ruthlessly until your thighs begin to tremble uncontrollably.
Your knees buckle completely, your weight giving out, but Riki’s grip on your hip instantly tightens. He hoists you up, pinning you flat against the shower wall, refusing to let you drop, refusing to let you escape the building storm. You are completely at his mercy, caught in a dizzying spiral of overstimulation as he continues to drive into you until you are entirely broken open under his touch, crying out his name into the foggy, echoing room.
He watches your orgasm wreck you, his own breathing ragged now, his chest heaving against yours. But he doesn't let you rest. Before you can even recover from the aftershocks, he reaches down, gripping your thigh and lifting it over his hip.
The heat of his cock presses firmly against your drenched, aching cunt.
"I told you this before," he pants, his eyes locking onto yours with an absolute, unyielding dominance. "We're not done until I say so."
With one powerful motion, he drives himself completely inside you, stretching you so deeply that the breath is knocked entirely from your lungs. The shower walls literally vibrate with the force of his movement as he begins to fuck you, the rhythm fast, heavy, and completely relentless.
The steam continues to fog the glass, completely trapping you in a wild, breathless haze where the only thing that exists is the roaring water and the undeniable, overwhelming power of Riki breaking you down, piece by piece.
The force of his first few thrusts pins you helplessly against the wet tile, the slick stone offering no traction as Riki takes complete control of your body. Every time he slams into you, your breath hitches.
The water pelts down from above, blinding you, but Riki’s gaze remains locked onto your face, tracking every twitch of your features, every desperate gasp that leaves your parted lips.
"Riki, wait—" you try to cry out, your hands clawing weakly at his wet shoulders. The sensory overload is staggering, the roaring water, the thick, heavy steam choking the air, and the sheer size of him tearing you completely open. It’s too much, too fast after your muscles were already pushed to their limit at the gym.
"I'm not waiting," he murmured against your neck, his lips pressing a hot, bruising kiss to your collarbone as he thrusts deep, shifting his angle to hit that exact spot inside you that makes your entire body go rigid.
You let out a broken sound, your fingers digging into his back. Your legs feel entirely useless now, trembling violently as he sets a punishing, relentless rhythm. He handles your weight effortlessly, one massive hand hooked under your thigh, holding you aloft while his other hand presses flat against the wall right beside your head, the shower structure subtly vibrating under the force of his movements.
"Look at me," he rasps, his voice a low rumble that vibrates straight through your chest.
You force your eyes open, your vision blurred by tears and spray. Riki’s jaw is clenched tight, a vein pulsing at his temple as he fucks you with a fierce, possessive hunger.
He looks entirely lethal in the dim, foggy light of the bathroom, a dominant force that refuses to let you slip away into the numbness of exhaustion.
"You're so tight," he pants, a low, guttural sound tearing from his throat as he accelerates, his cock driving relentlessly against your aching pussy. "Am I too much for you? Tell me."
"Yes—please, Riki, I'm going to—"
You can't even finish the sentence before another wave of intense pleasure threatens to fracture your mind. Your body is already so raw, so completely undone from the way he fingered you moments ago, that every single friction of his skin against yours feels like an electric shock.
"Nah, don't drop yet," he warns, catching your lips in a harsh, bruising kiss that drowns out your whimpers.
He intentionally slows his pace for a split second, drawing almost completely out of you until you moan at the sudden emptiness, only for him to slam back inside you all the way to the hilt, burying his length so deeply that your hips twitch automatically against him.
The steam has turned the bathroom into a complete blur, sealing the two of you into a private, hot cocoon. The scent of soap is entirely overwhelmed by the musk of your shared sweat and the unmistakable heat of raw, unfiltered desire.
He shifts his grip, suddenly turning you around so your front is pressed flat against the cold tile wall. The sudden contrast of the chilly stone against your flushed chest makes you gasp, but before you can adjust, Riki crowds his entire body against your back. He pulls your hips back, aligning you perfectly before he slams back into you from behind.
This angle is even deeper, hitting you with a brutal, direct force that causes the shower walls to shake. Your hands slide against the wet tile, unable to find a grip, leaving you entirely dependent on the way his heavy hands clamp onto your hip bones, anchoring you to his rhythmic, devastating pounding.
"Riki, please—I can't—" you sob out, your head dropping against the tile wall as the fogged surface smears with your movement.
"You can," he mutters, his breath scorching the back of your neck as his teeth lightly graze your shoulder blade. He refuses to finish, refuses to let himself give in, holding back his own release with a terrifying amount of control just to keep you right on the edge of breaking.
The relentless pace shifts, the air in the small enclosure settling as Riki seems to feel the slight tension in your posture. The punishing, frantic energy of the moment softens, grounding itself back into something thick, heavy, and intensely connected.
He doesn't pull away, but the aggressive drive of his movements slows down to a deep, deliberate drag that lets both of you catch your breath.
He buries his face into the crook of your neck, his breathing a heavy, ragged heat against your skin as he lets the hot water pour over both of your shoulders, letting the silence settle between you.
When he pushes forward again, the movement is a slow, rolling thrust that fills you completely. The friction turns from a sharp, overwhelming spike into a deep, agonizingly sweet ache that pulls a soft, long breath from your lips.
"Hey," he murmurs, his voice a low, and vibrating against your ear, the earlier edge entirely melting away. "Look at me."
He gently guides you to turn back around to face him, his hands supporting your weight with an easy familiarity so your exhausted legs don't have to bear the burden. When your eyes meet his through the cascade of water and steam, the intense focus in his dark gaze hasn't changed, but it's smoothed over by a heavy, protective warmth. He reaches up, his thumb gently wiping the moisture from your cheek.
"Too much?" he asks softly, his chest heaving against yours as his length shifts deeply inside you.
You shake your head slightly, your hands sliding up to wrap securely around his neck, finally finding your rhythm with him.
"Just... tired. Everything is so sensitive."
Riki lets out a soft, breathy laugh, his forehead leaning against yours as the water blankets you both. "I've got you," he promises, his voice dropping to a gentle, reassuring purr. "I'll hold you. Just relax against me."
He begins to move again, but the cadence is completely altered, with measured, and incredibly deep strokes that stretch the pleasure out rather than rushing toward the edge.
It’s an intense, heavy sensation that makes your core ache with a quiet warmth, each tilt of his hips designed to make you melt rather than fracture. His hands stay anchored on your hips, no longer locking you down, but smoothly guiding you against his body to ensure every single point of contact is pure, unhurried heat.
The bathroom feels entirely peaceful now, the steady, soothing roar of the shower swallowing up everything else as the steam wraps around you like a heavy blanket. Riki sways with you under the water, drawing out the moment until you're completely soft and pliable in his arms.
The steady, rhythmic drumming of the water continues to echo off the tiles, creating a private cocoon around the two of you as the steam grows thicker.
The slow, deep thrusts of his hips stretch out the sensation, allowing your body to fully adjust to the thick, heavy warmth filling you.
Every single slide of his length is deliberate now, no longer punishing, but incredibly intense in its consistency. Your hands tighten around his neck, your fingers knotting into his wet hair as your hips begin to subtly shift on their own, finding a quiet, natural harmony with his pace.
"Riki..." you breathe out, the sound vibrating right against his chest.
"Yeah," he says softly, his voice thick, a low rumble of pure satisfaction. He pulls you just a fraction closer, his large hands anchoring firmly on the underside of your thighs to take every ounce of your weight. "I got you. Just stay right here."
The gentle, rolling rhythm begins to naturally tighten, the pleasure shifting from a soft, radiating ache into a concentrated, burning heat low in your belly.
The friction of his wet skin against yours under the cascading water becomes hypnotic. Even without the frantic speed from before, the sheer depth of him fucking you is pulling you right back up to the edge, your internal walls contracting tightly around him with every movement.
Riki’s breathing hitches, his jaw clenching tightly as he feels your body begin to tremble again. The gentle warmth in his eyes darkens with a sudden, heavy spike of desire as your tightness threatens to break his immense control.
"Fuck y/n," he pants against your ear, his pace naturally quickening just a bit, the deep strokes turning firmer, harder, as the heat becomes too much for either of you to contain. "You’re squeezing me too tight... you're ready, aren't you?"
You can only nod against his shoulder, a broken whimper escaping your lips as your hips helplessly chase his steady, powerful thrusts. The build up is thick and intoxicating, completely consuming the last of your strength.
"Go ahead," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a raw, command as he drives deep, hitting that exact spot inside you with a sudden, unyielding precision. "Come for me."
With a final, deep thrust, the tension snaps. A loud gasp is knocked from your lungs as a shattering climax ripples through your entire body, your muscles clenching around him in violent, desperate waves. Your head falls back against the wet tile wall, your vision blurring into complete white.
As you unravel completely in his arms, the tight, relentless pressure of your body pushes Riki entirely over the edge. His control snaps completely. He lets out a sharp, ragged gasp that echoes off the shaking walls, his hips slamming forward one last time to bury his cock to the absolute hilt. He freezes right there, his entire body going completely rigid as he cums deeply inside you.
The heavy, breathless sounds of his release mix with the roar of the water as he spills his burning heat completely, filling you to the brink while holding you tightly against his chest.
The frantic motion completely stops, leaving only the loud, heavy sound of your synchronized, ragged breathing cutting through the steam. He stays buried deep inside you, his heart hammering wildly against your ribs, simply holding you up as the aftershocks slowly fade and the water continues to pour over your shared skin.
For a long, quiet minute, neither of you moves. Riki keeps his arms securely wrapped around you, his hands resting gently on your lower back to keep you anchored against him as the last of the tremors fade from your legs.
Slowly, carefully, he draws back just an inch, his cock slipping out of you with a soft, slick sound. Instead of stepping away, he turns his body to shield you from the direct spray, letting the hot water hit his back while he reaches down to adjust the handle, turning the flow into a gentle, warm mist.
He reaches for the bottle of body wash on the small corner shelf, pouring a generous amount into his palms until a thick, fragrant lather builds.
"Turn around," he murmurs softly, his voice deep and rough from exhaustion as his fingers gently coax your shoulders.
You comply, pressing your hands lightly against the tile wall for support as your muscles continue to feel like jelly. Riki steps up close behind you, his warm, soapy hands coming down onto your shoulders.
He begins to wash you, his movements slow and deliberate, a complete contrast to the power trip from earlier. His palms glide over the aching muscles of your back, working out the tension from both the workout and the shower, before tracing down the line of your spine.
His touch is incredibly tender as he cleans the sweat and the remnants of your intimacy from your thighs, his fingers moving with a quiet care that makes you melt completely against him. Once you’re completely clean, he pulls you back under the warm mist, using his hands to gently rinse the soap from your skin.
He takes a quick moment to soap himself down and rinse off, the water washing away the last of the exhaustion. When the soap is completely gone, he turns off the valve, the sudden silence in the enclosure heavy and peaceful.
He slides the glass door open, immediately reaching out to grab two large, plush towels from the rack before the cool bathroom air can hit your skin. He wraps one carefully around you, tucking the edges in to trap the remaining warmth of the shower, before wrapping the second one around his own waist.
Even with the towel shielding you, a small shiver runs through your body, your exhausted muscles still trembling slightly from the sheer intensity of the last hour. Riki notices instantly.
Without a word, he steps close, hooking one arm securely under your knees and the other behind your back, effortlessly lifting you into his arms.
"Riki, I can walk," you murmur weakly, your voice small and raspy against his neck, though your arms automatically loop around his shoulders for balance.
"Yeah right," he mutters, a soft, breathy chuckle vibrating in his chest as he carries you out of the damp, steam fogged bathroom. "Your legs were shaking just standing there. Just let me hold you."
He carries you into the quiet comfort of the bedroom. He deposits you gently onto the center of the mattress, taking a moment to use the edges of the towel to gently pat away any lingering droplets of water from your skin.
Once you’re dry, he pulls the heavy, thick duvet all the way up to your shoulders, tucking you in tightly like a cocoon to make sure you're warm. He slides his own towel off and tosses it toward a chair before slipping into the bed right beside you.
The mattress dips under his weight as he slides beneath the covers, immediately pulling you close until your back is pressed flat against his bare chest. He loops one heavy arm around your waist, pulling you tightly into his frame, his body heat radiating through you like a furnace.
For a long time, the room is completely silent, save for the hum of the apartment's air conditioning and the steady rhythm of your breathing. He rests his chin lightly against the crown of your head, his fingers tracking slow, lazy circles over the bare skin of your shoulder.
"Hey," he murmurs softly into the quiet room, his voice dropping to a low, vulnerable register that you only ever hear when it's just the two of you like this.
"Yeah?" you breathe out, your eyes already growing heavy as the warmth of the bed and the comforting weight of his arm soothe your exhausted mind.
His hand stops its movement for a second, his fingers gently gripping your waist a bit tighter, pulling you just a fraction closer against him.
"Sorry if I went too hard on you," he whispers, the rough edge completely gone from his tone, replaced by a genuine, quiet tenderness. "I know you were already tired from the gym. I just... lost my head a bit when I saw you in there."
Hearing the slight hint of worry in his voice makes you smile weakly in the dark. You shift slightly, turning your head just enough to press a soft kiss against the smooth skin of his forearm wrapped around you.
"It's okay," you murmur softly, your hand coming up to rest over his, intertwining your fingers together. "It felt good. I just really don't think I can move my legs until tomorrow."
A soft, genuinely happy laugh huffs out of his nose, his lips pressing a lingering, warm kiss into your hair. "Good. You don't have to move at all. I got you."
He resumes the slow, rhythmic tracing of his fingers against your skin. The fierce, unyielding force from the shower feels like a distant memory now, replaced entirely by the safe, protective bubble he’s built around you in the dark.
Your eyelids grow heavier and heavier with every breath he takes against your neck, your body completely melting into his solid frame. Riki adjusts the blanket one last time, pulling it securely over your shoulders and holding you tight against his chest, content to watch you slowly drift off to sleep in the quiet safety of his arms.
৻ꪆ SUMMARY : Your bestfriend helps you get over your ex
৻ꪆ CONTENTS : MDNI (18+) ⋆ dom!james ⋆ unprotected sex ⋆ nipple play ⋆ spit play ⋆ blowjob ⋆ spanking ⋆ creampie ⋆ aftercare
taglist : @amyishere123 @444pondju
৻ꪆ PAIRING : z.yufan x f!reader
৻ꪆ WORDCOUNT : 3.1k
The rain hitting the window pane was the only sound filling the apartment, a dull, repetitive hum that matched the heavy weight in your chest. On the coffee table sat a pile of reminders you couldn't bring yourself to throw away yet. A stray sweatshirt, a half empty bottle of cologne, and a screen that kept lighting up with texts you knew you shouldn't reply to.
You were curled on the edge of the couch, knees pulled tightly to your chest, feeling entirely drained from a week of overthinking.
Then came the knock at the door. It wasn't hesitant. It was a familiar, rhythmic three beat pattern that you’d recognize anywhere.
Before you could even call out, the lock clicked. James stepped inside, shaking the dampness from his dark hair, a grocery bag slung over his wrist. He took one look at the dim lighting, the tear stained sleeve of your oversized sweater, and the absolute mess on the table, and his expression instantly softened. He didn't ask if you were okay, he already knew the answer.
"Hey," James said softly, kicking his shoes off by the door and setting the bag down. "I brought the takeout you always want when you're spiraling. And I'm confiscating your phone."
He walked over, his large frame instantly making the cramped living room feel grounded. Instead of sitting on the opposite end of the couch, he dropped right onto the cushion next to you, his thigh pressing warm against your side. He reached out, his long fingers gently but firmly wrapping around your phone to slide it out of your grip.
You let out a shaky breath, letting your head drop back against the cushions. "I didn't think you'd actually come over. You had stuff to do tonight."
"This is more important," James murmured, his low voice cutting through the quiet room.
He turned his head to look at you, his sharp jawline tight, eyes dark with a mixture of intense protective frustration and deep fondness. "You've been crying over him again, haven't you?"
You didn't answer, which was an answer in itself. You just pulled your knees tighter, looking away because the sheer intensity of his gaze was suddenly hard to hold.
For years, James had been your rock, the steady, unwavering presence who picked up the pieces every time your ex messed up. But tonight, the atmosphere in the room felt distinctly different.
The air felt thick, charged with an unspoken frustration that had been building between the two of you for months.
James let out a low, rough sigh, reaching out to cup the side of your face. His thumb brushed gently over the damp skin under your eye, his palm warm against your cheek. The sheer intimacy of the gesture made your breath hitch.
"I'm sick of seeing you waste your tears on someone who never deserved a second of your time," James said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a new, commanding weight that sent a sudden, unexpected shiver straight down your spine. "Look at me."
Your breath caught in your throat. You didn't move fast enough, your mind still trying to process the sudden shift in his demeanor, but James didn't give you a choice. His thumb slid down to your chin, his grip firming up just enough to tilt your face up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes blazing with an intense authority that made your heart hammer against your ribs.
"You're gonna lose sleep over someone who didn't even know what to do with you?" James asked, his voice low, steady, and entirely unyielding. He leaned in closer, his broad shoulders completely blocking out the rest of the dim room, trapping you in his space. "Let me show you what you've been missing. Let me show you how you're actually supposed to be taken care of."
Your chest heaved, your hands trembling where they rested against your knees. The best friend you knew was still there, but a completely possessive side of him had just taken the reins.
"James..." you whispered, a breathless sound that was half a question and half a plea.
"Quiet," he said softly, his thumb tracing the lower curve of your lip, pressing just enough to force your mouth open slightly. "From now on, you don't say his name. You don't think about him. You only think about me. Do you understand me?"
You nodded quickly, a helpless warmth blooming deep in your stomach at the tone of his voice.
"Good girl," James murmured, a dark, satisfied smirk finally tugging at the corner of his lips. He leaned down, his breath hot against your skin as his hand slid from your chin down to the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling into your hair to lock you in place.
The tension in the room snaps the second his hand locks into your hair. He doesn’t wait for you to process his words, leaning in to bridge the remaining distance between you.
When his lips meet yours, it isn’t the gentle, hesitant kiss of a best friend crossing a line, it’s entirely possessive, deep, and demanding.
James kisses you with a fierce, built up hunger, his mouth moving against yours with a heavy rhythm that completely steals the breath from your lungs. Your hands instinctively fly up to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt just to keep yourself anchored as the world spins.
He tastes like the cool rain from outside, but the heat radiating from his body is overwhelming, completely consuming you.
He tilts your head back further, deepening the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in a way that makes a soft, helpless whine catch in your throat. Hearing that sound only makes him grip your hair a little tighter, a low, rumbling growl vibrating against your lips in approval. He’s completely taking over, erasing every lingering thought of your ex, rewriting your entire definition of intimacy with the sheer authority of his touch.
Slowly, without breaking the kiss, James shifts his weight. His large frame crowds you backward, pressing you down against the cushions of the couch until he’s hovering completely over you. The solid, heavy warmth of him settling between your thighs makes your heart hammer frantically against your ribs.
When he finally pulls back, his lips are slick, his eyes dark as he looks down at you flushed, breathless, and completely at his mercy. He takes a slow, steady breath, his gaze dropping down to the collar of your oversized sweater before tracing back up to your eyes.
"From now on," James roughs out, his voice thick and commanding, "you belong entirely to me. Let’s get you out of these clothes."
Your sweater is discarded on the floor, leaving you exposed to the cool air of the room, but you barely feel it. The heat radiating off James is enough to scorch you.
He stays hovering directly over you, trapping you against the deep cushions of the couch. His eyes move with a slow, deliberate rhythm, tracing over every single inch of your bare skin. There is a heavy, unblinking intensity in his gaze that makes you feel entirely pinned down long before he even lowers his weight.
There is no judgment in his eyes, no hesitation. Only an intense, territorial satisfaction that sends a heavy thrum of adrenaline straight to your core. He stares at you like he has finally claimed something he’s been waiting an eternity for.
"Look at you," James murmurs.
He reaches down, his large, warm hand flattening entirely against your stomach. The contrast of his palm against your sensitive skin makes your stomach flutter, a sharp tremor rippling outward from his touch.
You try to swallow, the air suddenly feeling far too thick to pull into your lungs, your hands rising tentatively to rest against his broad shoulders. Beneath your fingertips, you can feel the flexed tension in his muscles, the unyielding strength he is intentionally holding back just to keep from crushing you beneath him.
"James, I—"
"Shh," he interrupts gently, though his tone leaves absolutely no room for argument. He leans in just a fraction closer, his face casting yours into shadow, his dark eyes locking onto yours to completely silence the frantic, anxious spin of your thoughts.
Slowly, dragging his palm with a torturous lack of haste, he slides his hand up your torso. The rough texture of his skin rubs deliciously against yours until his thumb brushes across the sensitive peak of your nipple.
The sudden, electric spark of friction makes your back arch completely off the couch, a sharp, ragged gasp escaping your lips before you can think to hold it back.
James smirks, the dark, incredibly satisfied curve of his lips visible even in the low light. He does it again, his thumb dragging across the hypersensitive skin with just a fraction more pressure, deliberately testing your boundaries.
"I told you to be quiet," he says softly, his voice a dangerous whisper, “You don't have to think. You don't have to worry if you're doing enough. Just feel what I'm doing to you."
He drops his gaze down to your chest, his focus narrowing entirely on your flushed skin. He pinches the aching point between his thumb and index finger, rolling the tight bud firmly until a high, needy whimper slips past your lips.
He rewards the sound by leaning down and swirling his warm tongue directly over the sensitive peak, before drawing the entire length of your nipple into his mouth, sucking fiercely...
He pulls back reluctantly, looking up at your face, his eyes completely consumed by a heavy, animalistic hunger. He hovers right over your face, his hot breath fanning across your lips.
Slowly, deliberately, he lets a thick pool of his own saliva gather on his tongue. You watch, completely transfixed and breathless, as he lets it drip directly from his mouth into yours. The hot, intimate taste of him coats your tongue, and before you can even swallow, James leans down and covers your mouth in a bruising, deep kiss. He uses his tongue to slide the slick moisture all around your mouth, forcing you to consume him, drinking in your choked gasps as he thoroughly claims your mouth.
When he finally breaks the kiss, you are completely dazed, your lips slick and swollen. James doesn't give you a second to recover. He shifts his weight, sliding down your body until he is kneeling on the floor between your legs, forcing your thighs open wide.
He leans over you, reaching down, his hands hook firmly into the waistband of your shorts and underwear, dragging them down your thighs and off your legs in one impatient, fluid motion.
Now completely exposed, he reaches down, rubbing directly over your aching core, he works his fingers rhythmically against you, sliding over your clit until you are arching off the couch, weeping from the agonizing friction.
"Look how wet I'm making you," James says softly, watching your face twist with pleasure as his slick fingers slide deep inside your cunt, stretching you out.
He pulls his fingers free with a soft, wet click that makes your hips twitch in protest at the sudden loss. Before you can beg him to come back, James stands up, unbuttoning his jeans with a harsh, decisive movement. The metallic rasp of his zipper breaking the quiet of the room makes your heart hammer frantically against your ribs.
He pulls his heavy, cock free from his underwear. Already leaking a clear drop of precum at the very tip. He steps closer to the couch, pressing the warm, heavy length of himself directly against your cheek, the sheer heat of it painting your skin.
His fingers tangle into your hair, guiding your head forward. "Open up for me, beautiful."
You part your lips, resting your hands flat against his tense thighs for balance as you lean forward and take the swollen head of his cock into your mouth.
A low, ragged groan tears from James's chest the second your hot, wet tongue swirls around the tip. You slide your mouth further down, wrapping your lips tightly around the thick shaft, taking as much of him as you can.
The sensation of your tight, wet mouth completely enveloping him makes James’s hips give a heavy, involuntary twitch. His hands tighten in your hair, not enough to hurt, but enough to firmly control the rhythm as he begins to slowly drag his dick into your mouth.
You look up at him through your eyelashes, your eyes watering slightly from the size of him filling your throat, watching his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles strike a hard line.
"Fuck, you feel incredible," he mutters, his breath coming in short, harsh pants as he increases the pace, sliding deeply in and out of your mouth, using your slick saliva to coat every single inch of his length until he is entirely glistening.
Just as the friction brings him to the absolute brink, James abruptly pulls himself out of your mouth with a heavy, wet pop. You gasp, your mouth still open and tingling, as he grabs your waist with his large, unyielding hands and effortlessly flips you over onto your stomach.
The sudden change in position leaves you completely vulnerable, your chest pressed flat against the couch cushions, your hips propped up high in the air, completely open to him from behind.
"James, please—" you cry out, turning your head to look back at him.
Without warning, the sharp, stinging impact of his open palm striking the bare, fleshy curve of your ass echoes loudly through the room. The sudden spike of pain makes you yell out, your back arching violently as a bright, hot flush instantly blooms across your skin.
"I told you to be quiet," James rasps, his face dark with an overwhelming, possessive heat.
He strikes the other side, his heavy palm leaving another burning, red print on your skin. The dual sensation of the sharp, throbbing sting between your thighs and the dull ache in your ass sends a massive wave of liquid heat straight to your center.
Your thighs tremble violently, your hips unconsciously lifting higher, practically begging him to fill the agonizing empty space he’s created.
James smirks, his large hand coming down to firmly grip your hip, pinning you into the perfect angle. He settles his heavy thighs behind yours, the hot, slick length of his dick dragging directly against your wet folds.
He pauses for one breathless second, letting you feel the full, crushing weight of his intent against your burning skin, before he begins to slowly slide deep into you from behind.
The sensation is staggering. Your eyes widen, a broken, high pitched sob tearing from your throat as he slowly stretches you open, filling the desperate ache completely.
James doesn't let you collapse, his hand stays clamped tightly on your hip, holding you steady as he pushes all the way in, until his pelvic bone slams firmly against your red, stinging cheeks.
For a moment, the sheer fullness of him makes your entire body freeze, your fingers digging frantically into the couch cushions. James stays completely still, buried deep inside you, his chest heaving violently against your back as he fights for control.
Slowly, he begins to move. He pulls back, nearly sliding all the way out until you whimper at the loss of the heat, before he drives right back in, smooth and deliberate.
The rhythm he establishes is fast, hard, and demanding. Every time he drives forward, his hips slam firmly against yours, the heavy, skin to skin impact sending a deep, resonant ache through your lower body, matching the throbbing sting of the slaps.
The room fills with the rhythmic, heavy sound of his hips striking yours, mixed with the ragged sound of your combined breathing. He reaches around your body, his fingers finding your slick clit, applying a steady, rhythmic pressure that perfectly matches the heavy pace of his hips.
The dual stimulation is too much. "James, please, I'm—I'm gonna—"
"Go," he breathes, his voice dropping into a fierce, raw rumble. He accelerates, his thrusts becoming short, hard, and incredibly deep, deliberately pushing you over the edge. "Come for me. Let me feel it."
With one final, incredibly deep surge of his hips, the coil snaps. A loud, entirely uninhibited cry tears from your throat as your walls begin to ripple with a violent, clamping orgasm, squeezing tightly around his length.
The intense, crushing friction of your climax instantly shatters the last of James's control. His eyes go completely dark, a raw, animalistic groan ripping from his chest as his body goes rigid. He drives himself into you one last, desperate time, burying his cock as deep as it can possibly go, pinning your hips completely to the couch as his cum begins to pump deep inside you.
He pulses inside you over and over, emptying a massive, hot torrent of his cum deep into your heat, filling you to the absolute brim. He holds himself there, twitching inside your clamping muscles as he spends every last drop into you, his chest heaving violently against your back.
The silence of the room slowly returns, broken only by the loud, ragged gasps of you both trying to catch your breath. James stays buried inside you for a long, quiet moment, his heavy weight a comforting, grounding pressure against your back.
Slowly, carefully, he slides his cock out of you. The sudden absence makes you whimper, and a warm, thick mix of his cum and your own moisture immediately begins to slowly leak out of your entrance, dripping down your inner thigh.
James notices instantly. He gently turns you over onto your back, his movements completely stripped of their previous aggression, replaced by a profound, quiet tenderness. He looks down at your flushed face, your swollen lips, and the dark mark on your neck, his eyes softening completely.
"You did so good for me, beautiful," he whispers, his voice low and incredibly sweet.
He reaches over, grabbing his discarded shirt from the floor. Gently, carefully, he uses the soft fabric to wipe away the slick leaking down your thighs, cleaning your sensitive skin with slow, soothing strokes. Once you’re clean, he pulls the discarded sweater up from the floor and carefully drapes it over your shivering body, tucking the soft knit around your shoulders to shield you from the cool air.
He slides onto the couch beside you, pulling your soft, trembling body directly against his bare, warm chest. He wraps his large arms tightly around you, anchoring you against him.
His large hand comes up to slowly stroke your hair, his fingers gently untangling the knots, while his lips press a soft, lingering kiss against your forehead.
He holds you close, letting your racing heart slowly match the steady, calm rhythm of his own, keeping you entirely safe and warm in his arms.
৻ꪆ SUMMARY : You and your lifelong best friends with mutual, unspoken lust finally break the tension during a late night game of Truth or Dare, exposing your true feelings.
৻ꪆ CONTENTS : MDNI (18+) ⋆ dom!ryul ⋆ down bad ryul ⋆ extremely needy ryul ⋆ built up tension ⋆ clothes ripping ⋆ choking ⋆ unprotected sex ⋆ mutual pinning ⋆ aftercare
taglist : @amyishere123 @444pondju
৻ꪆ PAIRING : ryul x f!reader
৻ꪆ WORDCOUNT : 3.6k
The rain is drumming a steady, mindless rhythm against your bedroom window, the kind of white noise that usually puts you straight to sleep. Tonight, though, you’re wide awake, propped up against a mountain of pillows with a half empty bag of sour gummies balanced on your stomach.
At the foot of your bed, completely taking up all the legroom, is Ryul.
He’s wearing a pair of grey sweatpants, and a faded t-shirt that stretches tightly across his shoulders when he shifts. Right now, he’s aggressively tossing a small plush pillow into the air and catching it with one hand, his eyes glued to the TV screen where some low budget horror movie is playing on mute.
"I'm telling you, if she goes into the basement, I’m turning this off," Ryul mutters, his voice carrying that low, edge it always gets when it’s past midnight. He catches the pillow without looking, his fingers sinking into the fabric.
"Oh shut up, Ryul," you laugh, nudging his thigh with your foot. "You cried during the trailer. Don’t act tough now."
Ryul scoffs, turning his head to look at you. The dim glow of the television catches the sharp line of his jaw and the soft, dark mess of his hair. A lazy, lopsided smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "I did not cry. I had a hair in my eye. There's a difference."
"Right. A very emotional hair."
He rolls his eyes, but the smile stays, warm and familiar. It’s the same look he’s given you for years. The one that used to just mean we’re idiots, but lately, has started making your chest feel tight. You try to blame it on the two mixed drinks you both knocked back an hour ago, or the suffocating humidity of the summer night, but you know better.
The truth is, the air between you two has been changing. It’s heavy. It’s the way his eyes linger on your mouth a second too long when you laugh, or how his hand always finds the small of your back whenever he guides you through a crowded room.
You’re both so hopelessly into each other it’s practically pathetic, a mutual, unspoken longing that neither of you has had the guts to voice. So instead, you play the roles of perfect best friends, ignoring the way the tension thickens every time your skin accidentally brushes his.
Ryul tosses the plush pillow aside, suddenly sitting up and crossing his legs. He rests his elbows on his knees, leaning in closer to you. The sudden shift in proximity makes your pulse hitch.
"I'm bored," he announces, his dark eyes locked onto yours. "The movie sucks, you're making fun of my fake tears, and I’m too wired to sleep."
"Well, what do you want to do then?" you ask, tilting your head.
Ryul's gaze drops to your lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up. A mischievous, slightly smug glint flashes in his eyes. "Let's play a game."
"Like what?"
"Truth or Dare," he says, a low chuckle escaping him. He reaches over, his fingers lightly brushing against your ankle as he moves, sending a sharp jolt of adrenaline straight up your spine. "No backing out, no chickening. Just honesty. You down?"
You swallow hard, your heart suddenly hammering against your ribs. Looking at the intensity in his face, you get the distinct feeling that this game is going to cause some serious problems.
"Fine," you challenge softly, holding his gaze. "You go first."
Ryul chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates right through the mattress. He leans back on his hands, tilting his head as he studies you, his dark eyes narrowed in playful calculation.
"Alright, let's start easy," he says, a smirk playing on his lips. "Truth or dare?"
"Truth," you say instantly, keeping your defensive walls up.
"Weak," he teases, rolling his eyes. "But fine. What's the biggest lie you've told me this month?"
You snort, leaning back against your pillows. "Easy. I told you your new haircut looked fine the day you got it. It actually looked like a bird tried to build a nest in it for the first twenty four hours."
Ryul gasps, throwing a hand over his chest in mock offense. "Wow. Remind me never to trust your compliments again.”
"My turn," you say, your voice dropping a fraction. "Truth or dare?"
"Truth," Ryul says, his eyes locked onto yours. He doesn't blink.
You lean forward, resting your chin in your hands. "Have you ever actually read any of those romance books you found on my nightstand, or were you just pretending to judge me?"
Ryul’s smirk fades into something a little more private, a little more intense. He holds your gaze, his voice dropping an octave. "I read a few chapters of one. The one with the dog eared pages." He pauses, his eyes dropping to your mouth before rising back up. "I wanted to see what kind of things make you lose it."
The sudden shift in his tone catches you completely off guard. Your throat goes dry, your heart doing a sudden, violent flip. He's testing the waters. He’s pushing the line that you’ve both spent months pretending didn't exist.
"Your turn," Ryul murmurs, his gaze heavy as he shifts closer, his knee now firmly pressed against your thigh. The heat radiating off him is suffocating. "Truth or dare?"
You catch your breath, refusing to let him win this little game. "Dare," you challenge, your voice steady despite the adrenaline spiking in your veins.
Ryul’s eyes darken. A slow, predatory smile creeps onto his face. "I dare you to sit on my lap for the next three rounds."
Your heart hammers against your ribs. You swallow the lump in your throat, holding his gaze as you slowly crawl over the space separating you, your movements deliberate, keeping your eyes locked onto his the entire time.
When you settle onto his lap, straddling his thighs, you hear his breath hitch. You can feel the rigid tension in his muscles, the way his hands twitch against the mattress like he's fighting the urge to grab your waist.
You lean in close, your face inches from his, mimicking his earlier posture. You can smell the clean, sharp scent of his cologne mixed with the faint sweetness of the drinks.
"Truth or dare, Ryul," you whisper, your eyes dropping to his lips in a deliberate, agonizingly slow tease.
You think you’ve won. You think you’ve caught him off guard.
But Ryul just stares up at you, his pupils completely blown, the easygoing best friend completely vanishing from his expression.
He doesn't break. Instead, his jaw tightens, and before you can even register the shift, his large hands come up, wrapping firmly around your hips. He grips you tight, his fingers digging into your skin through the fabric of your clothes, and effortlessly hauls you a fraction of an inch closer until there is absolutely no space left between your bodies. You can feel the hard, pulsing heat of him pressing right against you.
"Truth," he rasps out, his voice thick, entirely stripped of its usual playfulness. He tilts his head up, his breath hot against your lips, completely commanding the space. He tilts your hips just a fraction, a subtle, pressured movement that forces a soft gasp from your throat.
His grip on your waist tightens, pinning you in place, making it entirely clear who is in control of this game now.
"Ask me your question," Ryul murmurs, his dark eyes burning into yours, completely undone. "But choose your words very carefully."
The air in the room is suddenly so thick you can barely breathe it in. Every ounce of playfulness is stripped away, replaced by a heavy, suffocating weight that has been building between you for years.
Ryul doesn't let go of your hips. If anything, his fingers dig deeper into your skin, anchoring you to him as if he's terrified you'll pull away, or as if he’s entirely lost the capacity to let you go. The heat rolling off his body is suffocating, making you dizzy as you sit stranded over his thighs.
"You're not asking," Ryul says, his voice dropping to a rough, ragged whisper that sends a violent shiver straight down your spine. He leans in closer, his chest pressing hard against yours, forcing your back to arch slightly. "What's the matter? Forgot the question?"
"Ryul—" Your voice breaks, a tiny, breathless sound that betrays exactly how undone you are.
Hearing his name on your lips makes something click behind his eyes. The last thread of his restraint completely snaps.
He lets out a low, guttural growl, his grip shifting from your hips to the back of your thighs, effortlessly lifting you up just enough to pull you flush against him. The friction of the movement makes your breath catch in a sharp gasp.
Ryul tilts his chin up, his eyes fixed entirely on your mouth, completely gone by the sight of you looking so helpless beneath his gaze.
"Screw the game," he mutters, his breath hot against your skin as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling sharply. His lips brush against your pulse point, sending a jolt of pure adrenaline through your veins.
"I'm sick of pretending. I'm so fucked up for you, it’s driving me insane."
You wrap your arms around his shoulders, your fingers instantly tangling in the soft, messy strands of his hair, pulling him closer.
The sheer desperation in his voice triggers something wild inside you. You lean back just enough to look at him, your chests heaving in sync.
Ryul’s eyes are completely dark, filled with a raw, predatory hunger you’ve never seen in him before. His hand slides up your torso, his large palm burning through your shirt as he grips your jaw.
"If I kiss you right now," he breathes, his thumb pressing firmly against your bottom lip, dragging it down just a fraction, "I'm not stopping. Tell me to stop now, or I swear—"
You don't let him finish. You lean down, closing the distance, and press your lips to his.
The collision is explosive. Ryul lets out a sharp, ragged breath into your mouth, his hand immediately moving from your jaw to the back of your head, fistfuls of your hair anchoring you to him as he deepens the kiss with an intense, desperate urgency. It’s rough, uncoordinated, and utterly perfect driven by years of suppressed longing.
He tastes like the sweet liquor you drank earlier, but the heat of his mouth is entirely his own. He devours your lips, his tongue sliding past yours in a frantic rhythm that leaves you completely breathless, whimpering softly into his mouth.
The sound only seems to make him wilder. His other hand tears at the hem of your shirt, his rough palms making direct contact with the bare skin of your waist, sending waves of intense heat crashing through you as he pulls you closer, desperate to eliminate every single inch of remaining space between you.
Ryul pulls back just an inch, his lips wet and swollen, his chest heaving violently against yours. His eyes are entirely filled with a wild, feral intensity as he stares up at you. He looks completely unhinged, caught in the grip of a hunger that has been rotting away at him for years.
"Your shirt," he pants out, his voice a ruined, gravelly rasp against your mouth. "Take it off."
You don't even have time to move before his hands are under the fabric, bunching it up and hauling it over your head in one violent, impatient motion. The material catches slightly on your arms, and you hear a sharp rip along the seam as he literally tears it away from your body, tossing it blindly over the edge of the bed.
The cool air of the bedroom hits your bare skin for a split second before Ryul replaces it with the scorching heat of his own body.
He hovers over you, his eyes scanning every inch of your exposed skin with a terrifyingly hungry gaze. His jaw is clenched so tight a muscle leaps in his cheek.
"You have no idea," he rasps, his large hands coming down to pin your wrists to the mattress on either side of your head. His grip is like iron, completely restricting your movement. "No idea what you do to me. I've sat on this exact bed for months watching you, wanting to do this, wanting to ruin you until you couldn't think of anyone else."
He leans down, burying his face in your chest, his mouth devouring the sensitive skin of your collarbone. He bites down, not enough to break the skin, but hard enough to force a loud, high pitched whimper from your throat. He sucks firmly on the mark, his tongue soothing the sting in a slow, torturous rhythm that makes your hips instinctively roll up against his.
The friction makes Ryul let out a sharp, choked sound. He breaks away from your neck, his eyes snapping to yours, completely broken by the contact.
"Don't move like that unless you want this over in two seconds. I've been waiting too damn long to rush this." he warns, his voice shaking with a dangerous level of restraint.
With one hand now pinning both of your wrists above your head, he uses his free hand to reach down, his fingers gripping the waistband of your shorts. Dragging them down your legs along with your underwear, exposing you completely to his heavy, burning gaze.
The vulnerability makes you shiver, your knees instinctively trying to close, but Ryul immediately wedges his thigh between yours. He forces your legs wide apart, his large hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, his rough palm sending waves of electric heat crashing straight to your core.
"Look at me," Ryul commands, his voice dropping to a dark, breathless whisper as his fingers brush against the aching, damp center of you. You gasp, your back arching off the bed, but his hand on your wrists keeps you pinned. He stares directly into your eyes as he slips one long finger inside you, testing how ruined you already are for him. "Let me see exactly how much you want this."
Ryul lets out a dark, approving hum as his finger slides deep inside you, the slick friction of the movement drawing a broken cry from your lips. He doesn’t wait, immediately adding a second finger, stretching you open with a slow, deliberate rhythm that makes your mind go completely blank.
"You’re so wet for me," he pants, his thumb pressing firmly against your sensitive core, rubbing in tight, agonizing circles. "You've been thinking about this too, haven't you?"
You can only nod frantically, your hips rolling upward, desperately seeking more of the blistering friction. Your pinned wrists twitch against his iron grip, wanting nothing more than to wrap around his neck and pull him down.
"Please, Ryul..." you whimpered, the word slipping out before you can stop it.
"Please what?" he says, his pace quickening, his fingers turning you completely inside out. He leans down, his face inches from yours, his breath dragging heavily across your lips. "Tell me what you want."
"You. I want you."
Ryul’s jaw tightens, a sudden, fierce flash of possessiveness taking over his features. He abruptly withdraws his fingers, leaving you cold and aching, but before you can even protest, he’s unbuttoning his pants. He kicks them off along with his boxers, and when he moves back over you, the sheer size and heavy, throbbing heat of him pressing against your thigh makes your breath hitch.
He grabs your knees, pushing them all the way up toward your chest, completely opening you up, exposing you to his dark, unblinking gaze. He settles his weight between your thighs, the broad head of his length catching against your wetness.
"Look at me," he says, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. He reaches up, his large hand wrapping securely around your throat—not cutting off your air, but grounding you, pinning you to the mattress beneath his palm. "Keep your eyes on me."
You look up at him, your chest heaving, completely consumed by the feral, ravenous intensity in his eyes.
With one heavy, unyielding thrust, Ryul drives himself all the way inside you.
The sudden, stretching fullness forces a loud, high pitched gasp from your throat. He buries himself to the absolute hilt, his hips slamming hard against yours, the sheer impact sending a violent shockwave of pure desire straight to your core. Ryul freezes for a fraction of a second, his entire body rigid, his eyes blowing wide as he absorbs the tight squeeze of your walls.
A ragged, pained groan rips from his chest. “God, you're so tight," he chokes out, his fingers tightening slightly against your neck as he begins to move.
He doesn’t ease into it. Driven by years of agonizing restraint, Ryul begins to pound into you with a relentless pace. Every thrust is deep, hard, and punishing, his hips meeting yours with a wet, heavy slap that echoes in the quiet room. He completely dominates your body, the angle of his thrusts hitting your sweetest spot over and over until you’re sobbing his name into the space between your mouths.
Ryul lets out a harsh, broken breath against your ear, his movements becoming more frantic, more desperate as the friction between your bodies reaches a scorching breaking point. His entire body is slick with sweat, his muscles locked tight under the strain of trying—and failing—to hold himself back.
"Ryul, please," you sob out, your hands desperately clawing at his broad shoulders, your hips instinctively rising to meet every heavy, punishing thrust.
The sound of his name on your lips completely ruins him. He lets out a low groan, his grip on your waist tightening until his fingers dig deeply into your skin, pinning you flat against the mattress. He changes the angle, his hips slamming into yours with a sudden, devastatingly deep rhythm that makes your vision go completely spotty. You are entirely at his mercy, completely consumed by the sheer power of his body moving against yours.
"I can't—" Ryul gasps out, his teeth brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck as he bites down softly, his breath hitching violently. "I'm gonna cum. I can't hold it."
He doesn't give you a chance to answer. With one final, devastatingly hard thrust that buries him to the absolute hilt, Ryul stiffens completely. A ragged, animalistic sound rips from the back of his throat as his body shudders violently over yours, filling you completely with his thick release.
The intense sensation triggers your own arousal, your walls squeezing tightly around him in a series of helpless, overlapping spasms that leave you completely undone, crying out into the quiet room.
Ryul collapses against your chest, his heavy weight a comforting, suffocating presence as you both try to catch your breath.
His heart is hammering wildly against your ribs, his breath hot and ragged against your collarbone. He doesn't move away, keeping himself buried deep inside you as his hands slowly move up to cup your face, his thumbs gently wiping away the stray tears at the corners of your eyes.
The bedroom is completely quiet now, save for the sound of your overlapping, shallow breaths and the distant rhythm of the rain still tapping against the window.
Ryul doesn't move for a long time. He remains draped heavily over you, his forehead resting against the crook of your neck as his chest slowly expands and contracts against yours. The sheer intensity of what just happened hangs thick in the humid air, turning the initial wild adrenaline into a warm, heavy, and deeply intimate haze.
Slowly, Ryul shifts his weight, sliding out from inside you with a soft, quiet gasp escaping his lips. The sudden absence leaves you feeling cold, but he doesn't let the space last. He immediately pulls you against his side, wrapping one large arm around your waist and dragging you flush against his chest.
Your back is pressed to his front, his chin resting right on top of your head. His skin is still radiating an intense, comforting heat, and his heart is still drumming a frantic rhythm against your shoulder blades. His fingers lightly trace lazy, mindless circles across the bare skin of your stomach, his rough touch sending faint, lingering ripples of pleasure straight to your core.
"Hey," he whispers after a long silence, his voice incredibly low, vibrating right through your back. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of your head, his grip on your waist tightening just a fraction. "You okay?"
You nod against his chest, your fingers reaching down to interlace with his. "Yeah. More than okay."
Ryul lets out a breathy, quiet chuckle, his thumb rubbing comforting strokes over the back of your hand. The tension that had been rotting away at your friendship for months is completely gone, replaced by a deep, undeniable intimacy.
"Good," he murmurs, his eyes half-closed as he inhales the scent of your hair. "Because I'm not going back to how things were before tonight.”
The easy, uncomplicated safety of a platonic friendship had vanished the exact moment the game started, fully shattered by the sheer weight of what had been hidden beneath the surface for so long.
There was no going back to mindless late night hangouts, no pretending that the space between you was just empty air, and no putting the carefully built walls back up. Everything had been rewritten in the span of a single night.
As the quiet settled deeper into the room, the reality of it became entirely clear. The familiar dynamic you had protected for years was gone, completely consumed by the realization that you could never look at each other the same way again.
The friendship hadn't just changed it had been entirely undone, leaving behind something far more intense, permanent, and entirely unavoidable.
hi zoe!! this is my first time requesting a fic so please lmk if you need more details!! ⤵
nsfw req: could i request a fic for enha's riki as reader's roomie? (afab please!) she walks in on him fresh out the shower one day and....sees everything 👀 apologizes profusely and slams the door; promises to never mention it if he won't. only, even if she doesn't mention it, as the week continues, it's quite obvious the thought is still on her mind....he even makes a joke about her daydreaming about him one day, to which she offers an unintentionally loud and awkward laugh to hide the truth. her facade is see through, though....and by the end of the week riki proposes they actually talk about it; and well.....maybe a bit more than 'just talking' ensues 👀 lmk what you think, feel free to condense the time frame to make the fic shorter!! 🌸💌 love your writing btw ahh!!!!
i love this idea!! i’ll work on it as soon as i can, thank you so much for requesting! 🫶😚
can you pls write an au inspired by the movie red eye, pls pls 😭😭😭🙏
hi anon! i would honestly love to write this for you, but i’ve actually never seen red eye before! 😭 i’m totally down to watch it and look up the plot to make this happen, but could you give me a few more details? like, are you looking for me to write about a specific person, or is there a specific vibe or scene you’re looking for? let me know!! 🫶
Smut in fight dirty was good but smut in bitter sweet was CRAZZYYYYY. You popped off queen
stop thank u smm😭🙏 fight dirty was my first time writing smut soo it lacked a lot. but im so glad i improved! i still didn't know how to feel about it but im glad to see its getting love!!
৻ꪆ SUMMARY : You and your lifelong best friends with mutual, unspoken lust finally break the tension during a late night game of Truth or Dare, exposing your true feelings.
৻ꪆ CONTENTS : MDNI (18+) ⋆ dom!ryul ⋆ down bad ryul ⋆ extremely needy ryul ⋆ built up tension ⋆ clothes ripping ⋆ choking ⋆ unprotected sex ⋆ mutual pinning ⋆ aftercare
taglist : @amyishere123 @444pondju
৻ꪆ PAIRING : ryul x f!reader
৻ꪆ WORDCOUNT : 3.6k
The rain is drumming a steady, mindless rhythm against your bedroom window, the kind of white noise that usually puts you straight to sleep. Tonight, though, you’re wide awake, propped up against a mountain of pillows with a half empty bag of sour gummies balanced on your stomach.
At the foot of your bed, completely taking up all the legroom, is Ryul.
He’s wearing a pair of grey sweatpants, and a faded t-shirt that stretches tightly across his shoulders when he shifts. Right now, he’s aggressively tossing a small plush pillow into the air and catching it with one hand, his eyes glued to the TV screen where some low budget horror movie is playing on mute.
"I'm telling you, if she goes into the basement, I’m turning this off," Ryul mutters, his voice carrying that low, edge it always gets when it’s past midnight. He catches the pillow without looking, his fingers sinking into the fabric.
"Oh shut up, Ryul," you laugh, nudging his thigh with your foot. "You cried during the trailer. Don’t act tough now."
Ryul scoffs, turning his head to look at you. The dim glow of the television catches the sharp line of his jaw and the soft, dark mess of his hair. A lazy, lopsided smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "I did not cry. I had a hair in my eye. There's a difference."
"Right. A very emotional hair."
He rolls his eyes, but the smile stays, warm and familiar. It’s the same look he’s given you for years. The one that used to just mean we’re idiots, but lately, has started making your chest feel tight. You try to blame it on the two mixed drinks you both knocked back an hour ago, or the suffocating humidity of the summer night, but you know better.
The truth is, the air between you two has been changing. It’s heavy. It’s the way his eyes linger on your mouth a second too long when you laugh, or how his hand always finds the small of your back whenever he guides you through a crowded room.
You’re both so hopelessly into each other it’s practically pathetic, a mutual, unspoken longing that neither of you has had the guts to voice. So instead, you play the roles of perfect best friends, ignoring the way the tension thickens every time your skin accidentally brushes his.
Ryul tosses the plush pillow aside, suddenly sitting up and crossing his legs. He rests his elbows on his knees, leaning in closer to you. The sudden shift in proximity makes your pulse hitch.
"I'm bored," he announces, his dark eyes locked onto yours. "The movie sucks, you're making fun of my fake tears, and I’m too wired to sleep."
"Well, what do you want to do then?" you ask, tilting your head.
Ryul's gaze drops to your lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up. A mischievous, slightly smug glint flashes in his eyes. "Let's play a game."
"Like what?"
"Truth or Dare," he says, a low chuckle escaping him. He reaches over, his fingers lightly brushing against your ankle as he moves, sending a sharp jolt of adrenaline straight up your spine. "No backing out, no chickening. Just honesty. You down?"
You swallow hard, your heart suddenly hammering against your ribs. Looking at the intensity in his face, you get the distinct feeling that this game is going to cause some serious problems.
"Fine," you challenge softly, holding his gaze. "You go first."
Ryul chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates right through the mattress. He leans back on his hands, tilting his head as he studies you, his dark eyes narrowed in playful calculation.
"Alright, let's start easy," he says, a smirk playing on his lips. "Truth or dare?"
"Truth," you say instantly, keeping your defensive walls up.
"Weak," he teases, rolling his eyes. "But fine. What's the biggest lie you've told me this month?"
You snort, leaning back against your pillows. "Easy. I told you your new haircut looked fine the day you got it. It actually looked like a bird tried to build a nest in it for the first twenty four hours."
Ryul gasps, throwing a hand over his chest in mock offense. "Wow. Remind me never to trust your compliments again.”
"My turn," you say, your voice dropping a fraction. "Truth or dare?"
"Truth," Ryul says, his eyes locked onto yours. He doesn't blink.
You lean forward, resting your chin in your hands. "Have you ever actually read any of those romance books you found on my nightstand, or were you just pretending to judge me?"
Ryul’s smirk fades into something a little more private, a little more intense. He holds your gaze, his voice dropping an octave. "I read a few chapters of one. The one with the dog eared pages." He pauses, his eyes dropping to your mouth before rising back up. "I wanted to see what kind of things make you lose it."
The sudden shift in his tone catches you completely off guard. Your throat goes dry, your heart doing a sudden, violent flip. He's testing the waters. He’s pushing the line that you’ve both spent months pretending didn't exist.
"Your turn," Ryul murmurs, his gaze heavy as he shifts closer, his knee now firmly pressed against your thigh. The heat radiating off him is suffocating. "Truth or dare?"
You catch your breath, refusing to let him win this little game. "Dare," you challenge, your voice steady despite the adrenaline spiking in your veins.
Ryul’s eyes darken. A slow, predatory smile creeps onto his face. "I dare you to sit on my lap for the next three rounds."
Your heart hammers against your ribs. You swallow the lump in your throat, holding his gaze as you slowly crawl over the space separating you, your movements deliberate, keeping your eyes locked onto his the entire time.
When you settle onto his lap, straddling his thighs, you hear his breath hitch. You can feel the rigid tension in his muscles, the way his hands twitch against the mattress like he's fighting the urge to grab your waist.
You lean in close, your face inches from his, mimicking his earlier posture. You can smell the clean, sharp scent of his cologne mixed with the faint sweetness of the drinks.
"Truth or dare, Ryul," you whisper, your eyes dropping to his lips in a deliberate, agonizingly slow tease.
You think you’ve won. You think you’ve caught him off guard.
But Ryul just stares up at you, his pupils completely blown, the easygoing best friend completely vanishing from his expression.
He doesn't break. Instead, his jaw tightens, and before you can even register the shift, his large hands come up, wrapping firmly around your hips. He grips you tight, his fingers digging into your skin through the fabric of your clothes, and effortlessly hauls you a fraction of an inch closer until there is absolutely no space left between your bodies. You can feel the hard, pulsing heat of him pressing right against you.
"Truth," he rasps out, his voice thick, entirely stripped of its usual playfulness. He tilts his head up, his breath hot against your lips, completely commanding the space. He tilts your hips just a fraction, a subtle, pressured movement that forces a soft gasp from your throat.
His grip on your waist tightens, pinning you in place, making it entirely clear who is in control of this game now.
"Ask me your question," Ryul murmurs, his dark eyes burning into yours, completely undone. "But choose your words very carefully."
The air in the room is suddenly so thick you can barely breathe it in. Every ounce of playfulness is stripped away, replaced by a heavy, suffocating weight that has been building between you for years.
Ryul doesn't let go of your hips. If anything, his fingers dig deeper into your skin, anchoring you to him as if he's terrified you'll pull away, or as if he’s entirely lost the capacity to let you go. The heat rolling off his body is suffocating, making you dizzy as you sit stranded over his thighs.
"You're not asking," Ryul says, his voice dropping to a rough, ragged whisper that sends a violent shiver straight down your spine. He leans in closer, his chest pressing hard against yours, forcing your back to arch slightly. "What's the matter? Forgot the question?"
"Ryul—" Your voice breaks, a tiny, breathless sound that betrays exactly how undone you are.
Hearing his name on your lips makes something click behind his eyes. The last thread of his restraint completely snaps.
He lets out a low, guttural growl, his grip shifting from your hips to the back of your thighs, effortlessly lifting you up just enough to pull you flush against him. The friction of the movement makes your breath catch in a sharp gasp.
Ryul tilts his chin up, his eyes fixed entirely on your mouth, completely gone by the sight of you looking so helpless beneath his gaze.
"Screw the game," he mutters, his breath hot against your skin as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling sharply. His lips brush against your pulse point, sending a jolt of pure adrenaline through your veins.
"I'm sick of pretending. I'm so fucked up for you, it’s driving me insane."
You wrap your arms around his shoulders, your fingers instantly tangling in the soft, messy strands of his hair, pulling him closer.
The sheer desperation in his voice triggers something wild inside you. You lean back just enough to look at him, your chests heaving in sync.
Ryul’s eyes are completely dark, filled with a raw, predatory hunger you’ve never seen in him before. His hand slides up your torso, his large palm burning through your shirt as he grips your jaw.
"If I kiss you right now," he breathes, his thumb pressing firmly against your bottom lip, dragging it down just a fraction, "I'm not stopping. Tell me to stop now, or I swear—"
You don't let him finish. You lean down, closing the distance, and press your lips to his.
The collision is explosive. Ryul lets out a sharp, ragged breath into your mouth, his hand immediately moving from your jaw to the back of your head, fistfuls of your hair anchoring you to him as he deepens the kiss with an intense, desperate urgency. It’s rough, uncoordinated, and utterly perfect driven by years of suppressed longing.
He tastes like the sweet liquor you drank earlier, but the heat of his mouth is entirely his own. He devours your lips, his tongue sliding past yours in a frantic rhythm that leaves you completely breathless, whimpering softly into his mouth.
The sound only seems to make him wilder. His other hand tears at the hem of your shirt, his rough palms making direct contact with the bare skin of your waist, sending waves of intense heat crashing through you as he pulls you closer, desperate to eliminate every single inch of remaining space between you.
Ryul pulls back just an inch, his lips wet and swollen, his chest heaving violently against yours. His eyes are entirely filled with a wild, feral intensity as he stares up at you. He looks completely unhinged, caught in the grip of a hunger that has been rotting away at him for years.
"Your shirt," he pants out, his voice a ruined, gravelly rasp against your mouth. "Take it off."
You don't even have time to move before his hands are under the fabric, bunching it up and hauling it over your head in one violent, impatient motion. The material catches slightly on your arms, and you hear a sharp rip along the seam as he literally tears it away from your body, tossing it blindly over the edge of the bed.
The cool air of the bedroom hits your bare skin for a split second before Ryul replaces it with the scorching heat of his own body.
He hovers over you, his eyes scanning every inch of your exposed skin with a terrifyingly hungry gaze. His jaw is clenched so tight a muscle leaps in his cheek.
"You have no idea," he rasps, his large hands coming down to pin your wrists to the mattress on either side of your head. His grip is like iron, completely restricting your movement. "No idea what you do to me. I've sat on this exact bed for months watching you, wanting to do this, wanting to ruin you until you couldn't think of anyone else."
He leans down, burying his face in your chest, his mouth devouring the sensitive skin of your collarbone. He bites down, not enough to break the skin, but hard enough to force a loud, high pitched whimper from your throat. He sucks firmly on the mark, his tongue soothing the sting in a slow, torturous rhythm that makes your hips instinctively roll up against his.
The friction makes Ryul let out a sharp, choked sound. He breaks away from your neck, his eyes snapping to yours, completely broken by the contact.
"Don't move like that unless you want this over in two seconds. I've been waiting too damn long to rush this." he warns, his voice shaking with a dangerous level of restraint.
With one hand now pinning both of your wrists above your head, he uses his free hand to reach down, his fingers gripping the waistband of your shorts. Dragging them down your legs along with your underwear, exposing you completely to his heavy, burning gaze.
The vulnerability makes you shiver, your knees instinctively trying to close, but Ryul immediately wedges his thigh between yours. He forces your legs wide apart, his large hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, his rough palm sending waves of electric heat crashing straight to your core.
"Look at me," Ryul commands, his voice dropping to a dark, breathless whisper as his fingers brush against the aching, damp center of you. You gasp, your back arching off the bed, but his hand on your wrists keeps you pinned. He stares directly into your eyes as he slips one long finger inside you, testing how ruined you already are for him. "Let me see exactly how much you want this."
Ryul lets out a dark, approving hum as his finger slides deep inside you, the slick friction of the movement drawing a broken cry from your lips. He doesn’t wait, immediately adding a second finger, stretching you open with a slow, deliberate rhythm that makes your mind go completely blank.
"You’re so wet for me," he pants, his thumb pressing firmly against your sensitive core, rubbing in tight, agonizing circles. "You've been thinking about this too, haven't you?"
You can only nod frantically, your hips rolling upward, desperately seeking more of the blistering friction. Your pinned wrists twitch against his iron grip, wanting nothing more than to wrap around his neck and pull him down.
"Please, Ryul..." you whimpered, the word slipping out before you can stop it.
"Please what?" he says, his pace quickening, his fingers turning you completely inside out. He leans down, his face inches from yours, his breath dragging heavily across your lips. "Tell me what you want."
"You. I want you."
Ryul’s jaw tightens, a sudden, fierce flash of possessiveness taking over his features. He abruptly withdraws his fingers, leaving you cold and aching, but before you can even protest, he’s unbuttoning his pants. He kicks them off along with his boxers, and when he moves back over you, the sheer size and heavy, throbbing heat of him pressing against your thigh makes your breath hitch.
He grabs your knees, pushing them all the way up toward your chest, completely opening you up, exposing you to his dark, unblinking gaze. He settles his weight between your thighs, the broad head of his length catching against your wetness.
"Look at me," he says, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. He reaches up, his large hand wrapping securely around your throat—not cutting off your air, but grounding you, pinning you to the mattress beneath his palm. "Keep your eyes on me."
You look up at him, your chest heaving, completely consumed by the feral, ravenous intensity in his eyes.
With one heavy, unyielding thrust, Ryul drives himself all the way inside you.
The sudden, stretching fullness forces a loud, high pitched gasp from your throat. He buries himself to the absolute hilt, his hips slamming hard against yours, the sheer impact sending a violent shockwave of pure desire straight to your core. Ryul freezes for a fraction of a second, his entire body rigid, his eyes blowing wide as he absorbs the tight squeeze of your walls.
A ragged, pained groan rips from his chest. “God, you're so tight," he chokes out, his fingers tightening slightly against your neck as he begins to move.
He doesn’t ease into it. Driven by years of agonizing restraint, Ryul begins to pound into you with a relentless pace. Every thrust is deep, hard, and punishing, his hips meeting yours with a wet, heavy slap that echoes in the quiet room. He completely dominates your body, the angle of his thrusts hitting your sweetest spot over and over until you’re sobbing his name into the space between your mouths.
Ryul lets out a harsh, broken breath against your ear, his movements becoming more frantic, more desperate as the friction between your bodies reaches a scorching breaking point. His entire body is slick with sweat, his muscles locked tight under the strain of trying—and failing—to hold himself back.
"Ryul, please," you sob out, your hands desperately clawing at his broad shoulders, your hips instinctively rising to meet every heavy, punishing thrust.
The sound of his name on your lips completely ruins him. He lets out a low groan, his grip on your waist tightening until his fingers dig deeply into your skin, pinning you flat against the mattress. He changes the angle, his hips slamming into yours with a sudden, devastatingly deep rhythm that makes your vision go completely spotty. You are entirely at his mercy, completely consumed by the sheer power of his body moving against yours.
"I can't—" Ryul gasps out, his teeth brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck as he bites down softly, his breath hitching violently. "I'm gonna cum. I can't hold it."
He doesn't give you a chance to answer. With one final, devastatingly hard thrust that buries him to the absolute hilt, Ryul stiffens completely. A ragged, animalistic sound rips from the back of his throat as his body shudders violently over yours, filling you completely with his thick release.
The intense sensation triggers your own arousal, your walls squeezing tightly around him in a series of helpless, overlapping spasms that leave you completely undone, crying out into the quiet room.
Ryul collapses against your chest, his heavy weight a comforting, suffocating presence as you both try to catch your breath.
His heart is hammering wildly against your ribs, his breath hot and ragged against your collarbone. He doesn't move away, keeping himself buried deep inside you as his hands slowly move up to cup your face, his thumbs gently wiping away the stray tears at the corners of your eyes.
The bedroom is completely quiet now, save for the sound of your overlapping, shallow breaths and the distant rhythm of the rain still tapping against the window.
Ryul doesn't move for a long time. He remains draped heavily over you, his forehead resting against the crook of your neck as his chest slowly expands and contracts against yours. The sheer intensity of what just happened hangs thick in the humid air, turning the initial wild adrenaline into a warm, heavy, and deeply intimate haze.
Slowly, Ryul shifts his weight, sliding out from inside you with a soft, quiet gasp escaping his lips. The sudden absence leaves you feeling cold, but he doesn't let the space last. He immediately pulls you against his side, wrapping one large arm around your waist and dragging you flush against his chest.
Your back is pressed to his front, his chin resting right on top of your head. His skin is still radiating an intense, comforting heat, and his heart is still drumming a frantic rhythm against your shoulder blades. His fingers lightly trace lazy, mindless circles across the bare skin of your stomach, his rough touch sending faint, lingering ripples of pleasure straight to your core.
"Hey," he whispers after a long silence, his voice incredibly low, vibrating right through your back. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of your head, his grip on your waist tightening just a fraction. "You okay?"
You nod against his chest, your fingers reaching down to interlace with his. "Yeah. More than okay."
Ryul lets out a breathy, quiet chuckle, his thumb rubbing comforting strokes over the back of your hand. The tension that had been rotting away at your friendship for months is completely gone, replaced by a deep, undeniable intimacy.
"Good," he murmurs, his eyes half-closed as he inhales the scent of your hair. "Because I'm not going back to how things were before tonight.”
The easy, uncomplicated safety of a platonic friendship had vanished the exact moment the game started, fully shattered by the sheer weight of what had been hidden beneath the surface for so long.
There was no going back to mindless late night hangouts, no pretending that the space between you was just empty air, and no putting the carefully built walls back up. Everything had been rewritten in the span of a single night.
As the quiet settled deeper into the room, the reality of it became entirely clear. The familiar dynamic you had protected for years was gone, completely consumed by the realization that you could never look at each other the same way again.
The friendship hadn't just changed it had been entirely undone, leaving behind something far more intense, permanent, and entirely unavoidable.
৻ꪆ SUMMARY : Your bestfriend helps you get over your ex
৻ꪆ CONTENTS : MDNI (18+) ⋆ dom!james ⋆ unprotected sex ⋆ nipple play ⋆ spit play ⋆ blowjob ⋆ spanking ⋆ creampie ⋆ aftercare
taglist : @amyishere123 @444pondju
৻ꪆ PAIRING : z.yufan x f!reader
৻ꪆ WORDCOUNT : 3.1k
The rain hitting the window pane was the only sound filling the apartment, a dull, repetitive hum that matched the heavy weight in your chest. On the coffee table sat a pile of reminders you couldn't bring yourself to throw away yet. A stray sweatshirt, a half empty bottle of cologne, and a screen that kept lighting up with texts you knew you shouldn't reply to.
You were curled on the edge of the couch, knees pulled tightly to your chest, feeling entirely drained from a week of overthinking.
Then came the knock at the door. It wasn't hesitant. It was a familiar, rhythmic three beat pattern that you’d recognize anywhere.
Before you could even call out, the lock clicked. James stepped inside, shaking the dampness from his dark hair, a grocery bag slung over his wrist. He took one look at the dim lighting, the tear stained sleeve of your oversized sweater, and the absolute mess on the table, and his expression instantly softened. He didn't ask if you were okay, he already knew the answer.
"Hey," James said softly, kicking his shoes off by the door and setting the bag down. "I brought the takeout you always want when you're spiraling. And I'm confiscating your phone."
He walked over, his large frame instantly making the cramped living room feel grounded. Instead of sitting on the opposite end of the couch, he dropped right onto the cushion next to you, his thigh pressing warm against your side. He reached out, his long fingers gently but firmly wrapping around your phone to slide it out of your grip.
You let out a shaky breath, letting your head drop back against the cushions. "I didn't think you'd actually come over. You had stuff to do tonight."
"This is more important," James murmured, his low voice cutting through the quiet room.
He turned his head to look at you, his sharp jawline tight, eyes dark with a mixture of intense protective frustration and deep fondness. "You've been crying over him again, haven't you?"
You didn't answer, which was an answer in itself. You just pulled your knees tighter, looking away because the sheer intensity of his gaze was suddenly hard to hold.
For years, James had been your rock, the steady, unwavering presence who picked up the pieces every time your ex messed up. But tonight, the atmosphere in the room felt distinctly different.
The air felt thick, charged with an unspoken frustration that had been building between the two of you for months.
James let out a low, rough sigh, reaching out to cup the side of your face. His thumb brushed gently over the damp skin under your eye, his palm warm against your cheek. The sheer intimacy of the gesture made your breath hitch.
"I'm sick of seeing you waste your tears on someone who never deserved a second of your time," James said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a new, commanding weight that sent a sudden, unexpected shiver straight down your spine. "Look at me."
Your breath caught in your throat. You didn't move fast enough, your mind still trying to process the sudden shift in his demeanor, but James didn't give you a choice. His thumb slid down to your chin, his grip firming up just enough to tilt your face up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes blazing with an intense authority that made your heart hammer against your ribs.
"You're gonna lose sleep over someone who didn't even know what to do with you?" James asked, his voice low, steady, and entirely unyielding. He leaned in closer, his broad shoulders completely blocking out the rest of the dim room, trapping you in his space. "Let me show you what you've been missing. Let me show you how you're actually supposed to be taken care of."
Your chest heaved, your hands trembling where they rested against your knees. The best friend you knew was still there, but a completely possessive side of him had just taken the reins.
"James..." you whispered, a breathless sound that was half a question and half a plea.
"Quiet," he said softly, his thumb tracing the lower curve of your lip, pressing just enough to force your mouth open slightly. "From now on, you don't say his name. You don't think about him. You only think about me. Do you understand me?"
You nodded quickly, a helpless warmth blooming deep in your stomach at the tone of his voice.
"Good girl," James murmured, a dark, satisfied smirk finally tugging at the corner of his lips. He leaned down, his breath hot against your skin as his hand slid from your chin down to the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling into your hair to lock you in place.
The tension in the room snaps the second his hand locks into your hair. He doesn’t wait for you to process his words, leaning in to bridge the remaining distance between you.
When his lips meet yours, it isn’t the gentle, hesitant kiss of a best friend crossing a line, it’s entirely possessive, deep, and demanding.
James kisses you with a fierce, built up hunger, his mouth moving against yours with a heavy rhythm that completely steals the breath from your lungs. Your hands instinctively fly up to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt just to keep yourself anchored as the world spins.
He tastes like the cool rain from outside, but the heat radiating from his body is overwhelming, completely consuming you.
He tilts your head back further, deepening the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in a way that makes a soft, helpless whine catch in your throat. Hearing that sound only makes him grip your hair a little tighter, a low, rumbling growl vibrating against your lips in approval. He’s completely taking over, erasing every lingering thought of your ex, rewriting your entire definition of intimacy with the sheer authority of his touch.
Slowly, without breaking the kiss, James shifts his weight. His large frame crowds you backward, pressing you down against the cushions of the couch until he’s hovering completely over you. The solid, heavy warmth of him settling between your thighs makes your heart hammer frantically against your ribs.
When he finally pulls back, his lips are slick, his eyes dark as he looks down at you flushed, breathless, and completely at his mercy. He takes a slow, steady breath, his gaze dropping down to the collar of your oversized sweater before tracing back up to your eyes.
"From now on," James roughs out, his voice thick and commanding, "you belong entirely to me. Let’s get you out of these clothes."
Your sweater is discarded on the floor, leaving you exposed to the cool air of the room, but you barely feel it. The heat radiating off James is enough to scorch you.
He stays hovering directly over you, trapping you against the deep cushions of the couch. His eyes move with a slow, deliberate rhythm, tracing over every single inch of your bare skin. There is a heavy, unblinking intensity in his gaze that makes you feel entirely pinned down long before he even lowers his weight.
There is no judgment in his eyes, no hesitation. Only an intense, territorial satisfaction that sends a heavy thrum of adrenaline straight to your core. He stares at you like he has finally claimed something he’s been waiting an eternity for.
"Look at you," James murmurs.
He reaches down, his large, warm hand flattening entirely against your stomach. The contrast of his palm against your sensitive skin makes your stomach flutter, a sharp tremor rippling outward from his touch.
You try to swallow, the air suddenly feeling far too thick to pull into your lungs, your hands rising tentatively to rest against his broad shoulders. Beneath your fingertips, you can feel the flexed tension in his muscles, the unyielding strength he is intentionally holding back just to keep from crushing you beneath him.
"James, I—"
"Shh," he interrupts gently, though his tone leaves absolutely no room for argument. He leans in just a fraction closer, his face casting yours into shadow, his dark eyes locking onto yours to completely silence the frantic, anxious spin of your thoughts.
Slowly, dragging his palm with a torturous lack of haste, he slides his hand up your torso. The rough texture of his skin rubs deliciously against yours until his thumb brushes across the sensitive peak of your nipple.
The sudden, electric spark of friction makes your back arch completely off the couch, a sharp, ragged gasp escaping your lips before you can think to hold it back.
James smirks, the dark, incredibly satisfied curve of his lips visible even in the low light. He does it again, his thumb dragging across the hypersensitive skin with just a fraction more pressure, deliberately testing your boundaries.
"I told you to be quiet," he says softly, his voice a dangerous whisper, “You don't have to think. You don't have to worry if you're doing enough. Just feel what I'm doing to you."
He drops his gaze down to your chest, his focus narrowing entirely on your flushed skin. He pinches the aching point between his thumb and index finger, rolling the tight bud firmly until a high, needy whimper slips past your lips.
He rewards the sound by leaning down and swirling his warm tongue directly over the sensitive peak, before drawing the entire length of your nipple into his mouth, sucking fiercely...
He pulls back reluctantly, looking up at your face, his eyes completely consumed by a heavy, animalistic hunger. He hovers right over your face, his hot breath fanning across your lips.
Slowly, deliberately, he lets a thick pool of his own saliva gather on his tongue. You watch, completely transfixed and breathless, as he lets it drip directly from his mouth into yours. The hot, intimate taste of him coats your tongue, and before you can even swallow, James leans down and covers your mouth in a bruising, deep kiss. He uses his tongue to slide the slick moisture all around your mouth, forcing you to consume him, drinking in your choked gasps as he thoroughly claims your mouth.
When he finally breaks the kiss, you are completely dazed, your lips slick and swollen. James doesn't give you a second to recover. He shifts his weight, sliding down your body until he is kneeling on the floor between your legs, forcing your thighs open wide.
He leans over you, reaching down, his hands hook firmly into the waistband of your shorts and underwear, dragging them down your thighs and off your legs in one impatient, fluid motion.
Now completely exposed, he reaches down, rubbing directly over your aching core, he works his fingers rhythmically against you, sliding over your clit until you are arching off the couch, weeping from the agonizing friction.
"Look how wet I'm making you," James says softly, watching your face twist with pleasure as his slick fingers slide deep inside your cunt, stretching you out.
He pulls his fingers free with a soft, wet click that makes your hips twitch in protest at the sudden loss. Before you can beg him to come back, James stands up, unbuttoning his jeans with a harsh, decisive movement. The metallic rasp of his zipper breaking the quiet of the room makes your heart hammer frantically against your ribs.
He pulls his heavy, cock free from his underwear. Already leaking a clear drop of precum at the very tip. He steps closer to the couch, pressing the warm, heavy length of himself directly against your cheek, the sheer heat of it painting your skin.
His fingers tangle into your hair, guiding your head forward. "Open up for me, beautiful."
You part your lips, resting your hands flat against his tense thighs for balance as you lean forward and take the swollen head of his cock into your mouth.
A low, ragged groan tears from James's chest the second your hot, wet tongue swirls around the tip. You slide your mouth further down, wrapping your lips tightly around the thick shaft, taking as much of him as you can.
The sensation of your tight, wet mouth completely enveloping him makes James’s hips give a heavy, involuntary twitch. His hands tighten in your hair, not enough to hurt, but enough to firmly control the rhythm as he begins to slowly drag his dick into your mouth.
You look up at him through your eyelashes, your eyes watering slightly from the size of him filling your throat, watching his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles strike a hard line.
"Fuck, you feel incredible," he mutters, his breath coming in short, harsh pants as he increases the pace, sliding deeply in and out of your mouth, using your slick saliva to coat every single inch of his length until he is entirely glistening.
Just as the friction brings him to the absolute brink, James abruptly pulls himself out of your mouth with a heavy, wet pop. You gasp, your mouth still open and tingling, as he grabs your waist with his large, unyielding hands and effortlessly flips you over onto your stomach.
The sudden change in position leaves you completely vulnerable, your chest pressed flat against the couch cushions, your hips propped up high in the air, completely open to him from behind.
"James, please—" you cry out, turning your head to look back at him.
Without warning, the sharp, stinging impact of his open palm striking the bare, fleshy curve of your ass echoes loudly through the room. The sudden spike of pain makes you yell out, your back arching violently as a bright, hot flush instantly blooms across your skin.
"I told you to be quiet," James rasps, his face dark with an overwhelming, possessive heat.
He strikes the other side, his heavy palm leaving another burning, red print on your skin. The dual sensation of the sharp, throbbing sting between your thighs and the dull ache in your ass sends a massive wave of liquid heat straight to your center.
Your thighs tremble violently, your hips unconsciously lifting higher, practically begging him to fill the agonizing empty space he’s created.
James smirks, his large hand coming down to firmly grip your hip, pinning you into the perfect angle. He settles his heavy thighs behind yours, the hot, slick length of his dick dragging directly against your wet folds.
He pauses for one breathless second, letting you feel the full, crushing weight of his intent against your burning skin, before he begins to slowly slide deep into you from behind.
The sensation is staggering. Your eyes widen, a broken, high pitched sob tearing from your throat as he slowly stretches you open, filling the desperate ache completely.
James doesn't let you collapse, his hand stays clamped tightly on your hip, holding you steady as he pushes all the way in, until his pelvic bone slams firmly against your red, stinging cheeks.
For a moment, the sheer fullness of him makes your entire body freeze, your fingers digging frantically into the couch cushions. James stays completely still, buried deep inside you, his chest heaving violently against your back as he fights for control.
Slowly, he begins to move. He pulls back, nearly sliding all the way out until you whimper at the loss of the heat, before he drives right back in, smooth and deliberate.
The rhythm he establishes is fast, hard, and demanding. Every time he drives forward, his hips slam firmly against yours, the heavy, skin to skin impact sending a deep, resonant ache through your lower body, matching the throbbing sting of the slaps.
The room fills with the rhythmic, heavy sound of his hips striking yours, mixed with the ragged sound of your combined breathing. He reaches around your body, his fingers finding your slick clit, applying a steady, rhythmic pressure that perfectly matches the heavy pace of his hips.
The dual stimulation is too much. "James, please, I'm—I'm gonna—"
"Go," he breathes, his voice dropping into a fierce, raw rumble. He accelerates, his thrusts becoming short, hard, and incredibly deep, deliberately pushing you over the edge. "Come for me. Let me feel it."
With one final, incredibly deep surge of his hips, the coil snaps. A loud, entirely uninhibited cry tears from your throat as your walls begin to ripple with a violent, clamping orgasm, squeezing tightly around his length.
The intense, crushing friction of your climax instantly shatters the last of James's control. His eyes go completely dark, a raw, animalistic groan ripping from his chest as his body goes rigid. He drives himself into you one last, desperate time, burying his cock as deep as it can possibly go, pinning your hips completely to the couch as his cum begins to pump deep inside you.
He pulses inside you over and over, emptying a massive, hot torrent of his cum deep into your heat, filling you to the absolute brim. He holds himself there, twitching inside your clamping muscles as he spends every last drop into you, his chest heaving violently against your back.
The silence of the room slowly returns, broken only by the loud, ragged gasps of you both trying to catch your breath. James stays buried inside you for a long, quiet moment, his heavy weight a comforting, grounding pressure against your back.
Slowly, carefully, he slides his cock out of you. The sudden absence makes you whimper, and a warm, thick mix of his cum and your own moisture immediately begins to slowly leak out of your entrance, dripping down your inner thigh.
James notices instantly. He gently turns you over onto your back, his movements completely stripped of their previous aggression, replaced by a profound, quiet tenderness. He looks down at your flushed face, your swollen lips, and the dark mark on your neck, his eyes softening completely.
"You did so good for me, beautiful," he whispers, his voice low and incredibly sweet.
He reaches over, grabbing his discarded shirt from the floor. Gently, carefully, he uses the soft fabric to wipe away the slick leaking down your thighs, cleaning your sensitive skin with slow, soothing strokes. Once you’re clean, he pulls the discarded sweater up from the floor and carefully drapes it over your shivering body, tucking the soft knit around your shoulders to shield you from the cool air.
He slides onto the couch beside you, pulling your soft, trembling body directly against his bare, warm chest. He wraps his large arms tightly around you, anchoring you against him.
His large hand comes up to slowly stroke your hair, his fingers gently untangling the knots, while his lips press a soft, lingering kiss against your forehead.
He holds you close, letting your racing heart slowly match the steady, calm rhythm of his own, keeping you entirely safe and warm in his arms.
The heavy, throbbing ache in your muscles is the only thing anchoring you to reality as you unlock the door to the shared apartment. The air inside is cool, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off your skin after such a brutal workout session. Every step feels like a chore, your gym clothes sticking to you like a second, suffocating skin.
You drop your bag by the entryway with a dull thud. All you can think about is the shower, the thought of hot water washing away the sweat and exhaustion is the only motivation you have left.
You head straight for the bathroom, already peeling off your damp clothes. The quiet of the apartment surrounds you, making you think you’re completely alone. You turn the handle, letting the water run until the room begins to cloud with thick, heavy steam, blurring the edges of the mirror.
Stepping into the glass enclosure, you close your eyes and let the spray hit your face, sighing as the tension begins to melt from your shoulders.
But the click of the bathroom door cutting through the sound of rushing water tells you that you aren't alone anymore. Through the fogged glass, a tall, familiar silhouette moves closer.
The heavy glass door slides open, letting a draft of cool air slice through the thick steam. Riki stands in there, still in his damp gym gear, his dark eyes locked onto you through the fog. The contrast between the cool air and the heat of the bathroom makes you shiver.
"Why didn't you wait for me?" he asks, his voice low, cutting easily through the roar of the rushing water.
"Sorry... I just felt so disgusting," you murmur, wiping the water from your eyes as you look back at him.
"Yeah, yeah..." he mutters, a slow, knowing smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.
He doesn't step into the water right away. Instead, he reaches down to grab the hem of his soaked workout shirt. You watch his muscles tense as he pulls the damp fabric up and over his head, tossing it onto the bathroom floor outside.
Next comes the waistband of his shorts. He slides them down his legs, peeling away the last barrier of his clothes until he's completely bare, the cool bathroom air raising goosebumps on his skin.
He finally steps over the ledge and into the tight enclosure with you. The heavy glass door slides shut behind him with a definitive click.
The shower feels instantly smaller. The air grows thick and suffocatingly hot as he steps directly into your space, crowding you beneath the spray. The water immediately drenches his hair, sending slick tracks running down his chest as he corners you against the wet tile.
The heat radiating off his bare skin is intense, you can feel the adrenaline from his workout rolling off him in waves.
"Riki," you breathe out. You place your hands against his chest, feeling the steady, rapid thud of his heart beneath your palms. "Let's just... let's wait until after we shower. We just got back. I want to actually get clean."
A low, rumbling chuckle vibrates in his chest. He doesn't step back. Instead, his hands come up to rest on the tiled wall on either side of your head, effectively trapping you between the cold stone and his burning body.
He leans in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his breath hot and damp. "What's the point of waiting? We're just going to get all sweaty again anyway."
The confidence in his voice sends a sudden prickle of heat straight down your spine. Before you can even formulate a protest, his right hand leaves the wall, his fingers tracking a slow, deliberate path down the side of your neck, over your collarbone, and down to your waist. His grip is firm, and his fingers are digging into your hip with a possessive pressure that leaves no room for argument.
"Besides," he murmurs, his gaze dropping to watch the water track lines down your skin, "you look too good right now to make me wait."
He crowds you further, his thigh sliding between yours, forcing your legs slightly apart. The friction of his wet skin against yours is dizzying. You try to draw a deep breath, but the air is thick with steam and his familiar, intoxicating scent. Your hands shift from his chest to grip his shoulders for balance as your knees already feel a fraction weaker.
"Riki, seriously, my legs are already like jelly from the workout," you try to reason, though the breathiness of your own voice betrays you.
"Good," he whispers against your lips, his thumb stroking a slow circle into your hip bone. "Then you won't mind letting me hold you up."
He doesn't give you another chance to speak. His mouth comes down on yours, hot and demanding, effectively silencing any remaining logic. It’s not a gentle kiss, it’s a direct continuation of the intensity he brought home from the gym. He tastes like the clean rain of the shower water mixed with a fierce, burning hunger that immediately sets your pulse racing.
As the kiss deepens, his hand slips lower, his fingers slick with water and heat as they find the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You gasp into his mouth, a sudden jolt of electricity shooting through you as his touch grows bolder, migrating firmly toward your core.
"Riki—" you whimper against his lips, your fingers tightening into the muscles of his shoulders as he begins to tease you with a slow, agonizingly deliberate rhythm.
"Shh," he breaks the kiss just enough to mutter against your skin, his jaw tight as his fingers work with a devastating precision. "Just take it."
He uses his other hand to grip your chin, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to look into his eyes. They are dark, blown out, and entirely focused on your reactions.
Every slide of his fingers makes your breath hitch, the water pouring over both of you only heightening the slick sensation of his touch. He knows exactly where to press, his thumb finding your clit and applying just enough pressure to make your hips twitch involuntarily.
"You're already so wet," he rasps softly, a dark smirk playing on his lips as he watches your expression fracture. "See? I told you there was no point in waiting."
You try to hold yourself steady, but the combination of your exhausted muscles and the relentless, expert movement of his fingers is too much. He accelerates the pace, his fingers deeply inside you while his thumb relentlessly drives you toward a peak.
"Please," you gasp out, your head dropping back against the wet tile as your hips helplessly chase his hand.
"Please what?" he says, his voice a low and commanding. He doesn't slow down. If anything, his movements become more aggressive, his fingers fucking you ruthlessly until your thighs begin to tremble uncontrollably.
Your knees buckle completely, your weight giving out, but Riki’s grip on your hip instantly tightens. He hoists you up, pinning you flat against the shower wall, refusing to let you drop, refusing to let you escape the building storm. You are completely at his mercy, caught in a dizzying spiral of overstimulation as he continues to drive into you until you are entirely broken open under his touch, crying out his name into the foggy, echoing room.
He watches your orgasm wreck you, his own breathing ragged now, his chest heaving against yours. But he doesn't let you rest. Before you can even recover from the aftershocks, he reaches down, gripping your thigh and lifting it over his hip.
The heat of his cock presses firmly against your drenched, aching cunt.
"I told you this before," he pants, his eyes locking onto yours with an absolute, unyielding dominance. "We're not done until I say so."
With one powerful motion, he drives himself completely inside you, stretching you so deeply that the breath is knocked entirely from your lungs. The shower walls literally vibrate with the force of his movement as he begins to fuck you, the rhythm fast, heavy, and completely relentless.
The steam continues to fog the glass, completely trapping you in a wild, breathless haze where the only thing that exists is the roaring water and the undeniable, overwhelming power of Riki breaking you down, piece by piece.
The force of his first few thrusts pins you helplessly against the wet tile, the slick stone offering no traction as Riki takes complete control of your body. Every time he slams into you, your breath hitches.
The water pelts down from above, blinding you, but Riki’s gaze remains locked onto your face, tracking every twitch of your features, every desperate gasp that leaves your parted lips.
"Riki, wait—" you try to cry out, your hands clawing weakly at his wet shoulders. The sensory overload is staggering, the roaring water, the thick, heavy steam choking the air, and the sheer size of him tearing you completely open. It’s too much, too fast after your muscles were already pushed to their limit at the gym.
"I'm not waiting," he murmured against your neck, his lips pressing a hot, bruising kiss to your collarbone as he thrusts deep, shifting his angle to hit that exact spot inside you that makes your entire body go rigid.
You let out a broken sound, your fingers digging into his back. Your legs feel entirely useless now, trembling violently as he sets a punishing, relentless rhythm. He handles your weight effortlessly, one massive hand hooked under your thigh, holding you aloft while his other hand presses flat against the wall right beside your head, the shower structure subtly vibrating under the force of his movements.
"Look at me," he rasps, his voice a low rumble that vibrates straight through your chest.
You force your eyes open, your vision blurred by tears and spray. Riki’s jaw is clenched tight, a vein pulsing at his temple as he fucks you with a fierce, possessive hunger.
He looks entirely lethal in the dim, foggy light of the bathroom, a dominant force that refuses to let you slip away into the numbness of exhaustion.
"You're so tight," he pants, a low, guttural sound tearing from his throat as he accelerates, his cock driving relentlessly against your aching pussy. "Am I too much for you? Tell me."
"Yes—please, Riki, I'm going to—"
You can't even finish the sentence before another wave of intense pleasure threatens to fracture your mind. Your body is already so raw, so completely undone from the way he fingered you moments ago, that every single friction of his skin against yours feels like an electric shock.
"Nah, don't drop yet," he warns, catching your lips in a harsh, bruising kiss that drowns out your whimpers.
He intentionally slows his pace for a split second, drawing almost completely out of you until you moan at the sudden emptiness, only for him to slam back inside you all the way to the hilt, burying his length so deeply that your hips twitch automatically against him.
The steam has turned the bathroom into a complete blur, sealing the two of you into a private, hot cocoon. The scent of soap is entirely overwhelmed by the musk of your shared sweat and the unmistakable heat of raw, unfiltered desire.
He shifts his grip, suddenly turning you around so your front is pressed flat against the cold tile wall. The sudden contrast of the chilly stone against your flushed chest makes you gasp, but before you can adjust, Riki crowds his entire body against your back. He pulls your hips back, aligning you perfectly before he slams back into you from behind.
This angle is even deeper, hitting you with a brutal, direct force that causes the shower walls to shake. Your hands slide against the wet tile, unable to find a grip, leaving you entirely dependent on the way his heavy hands clamp onto your hip bones, anchoring you to his rhythmic, devastating pounding.
"Riki, please—I can't—" you sob out, your head dropping against the tile wall as the fogged surface smears with your movement.
"You can," he mutters, his breath scorching the back of your neck as his teeth lightly graze your shoulder blade. He refuses to finish, refuses to let himself give in, holding back his own release with a terrifying amount of control just to keep you right on the edge of breaking.
The relentless pace shifts, the air in the small enclosure settling as Riki seems to feel the slight tension in your posture. The punishing, frantic energy of the moment softens, grounding itself back into something thick, heavy, and intensely connected.
He doesn't pull away, but the aggressive drive of his movements slows down to a deep, deliberate drag that lets both of you catch your breath.
He buries his face into the crook of your neck, his breathing a heavy, ragged heat against your skin as he lets the hot water pour over both of your shoulders, letting the silence settle between you.
When he pushes forward again, the movement is a slow, rolling thrust that fills you completely. The friction turns from a sharp, overwhelming spike into a deep, agonizingly sweet ache that pulls a soft, long breath from your lips.
"Hey," he murmurs, his voice a low, and vibrating against your ear, the earlier edge entirely melting away. "Look at me."
He gently guides you to turn back around to face him, his hands supporting your weight with an easy familiarity so your exhausted legs don't have to bear the burden. When your eyes meet his through the cascade of water and steam, the intense focus in his dark gaze hasn't changed, but it's smoothed over by a heavy, protective warmth. He reaches up, his thumb gently wiping the moisture from your cheek.
"Too much?" he asks softly, his chest heaving against yours as his length shifts deeply inside you.
You shake your head slightly, your hands sliding up to wrap securely around his neck, finally finding your rhythm with him.
"Just... tired. Everything is so sensitive."
Riki lets out a soft, breathy laugh, his forehead leaning against yours as the water blankets you both. "I've got you," he promises, his voice dropping to a gentle, reassuring purr. "I'll hold you. Just relax against me."
He begins to move again, but the cadence is completely altered, with measured, and incredibly deep strokes that stretch the pleasure out rather than rushing toward the edge.
It’s an intense, heavy sensation that makes your core ache with a quiet warmth, each tilt of his hips designed to make you melt rather than fracture. His hands stay anchored on your hips, no longer locking you down, but smoothly guiding you against his body to ensure every single point of contact is pure, unhurried heat.
The bathroom feels entirely peaceful now, the steady, soothing roar of the shower swallowing up everything else as the steam wraps around you like a heavy blanket. Riki sways with you under the water, drawing out the moment until you're completely soft and pliable in his arms.
The steady, rhythmic drumming of the water continues to echo off the tiles, creating a private cocoon around the two of you as the steam grows thicker.
The slow, deep thrusts of his hips stretch out the sensation, allowing your body to fully adjust to the thick, heavy warmth filling you.
Every single slide of his length is deliberate now, no longer punishing, but incredibly intense in its consistency. Your hands tighten around his neck, your fingers knotting into his wet hair as your hips begin to subtly shift on their own, finding a quiet, natural harmony with his pace.
"Riki..." you breathe out, the sound vibrating right against his chest.
"Yeah," he says softly, his voice thick, a low rumble of pure satisfaction. He pulls you just a fraction closer, his large hands anchoring firmly on the underside of your thighs to take every ounce of your weight. "I got you. Just stay right here."
The gentle, rolling rhythm begins to naturally tighten, the pleasure shifting from a soft, radiating ache into a concentrated, burning heat low in your belly.
The friction of his wet skin against yours under the cascading water becomes hypnotic. Even without the frantic speed from before, the sheer depth of him fucking you is pulling you right back up to the edge, your internal walls contracting tightly around him with every movement.
Riki’s breathing hitches, his jaw clenching tightly as he feels your body begin to tremble again. The gentle warmth in his eyes darkens with a sudden, heavy spike of desire as your tightness threatens to break his immense control.
"Fuck y/n," he pants against your ear, his pace naturally quickening just a bit, the deep strokes turning firmer, harder, as the heat becomes too much for either of you to contain. "You’re squeezing me too tight... you're ready, aren't you?"
You can only nod against his shoulder, a broken whimper escaping your lips as your hips helplessly chase his steady, powerful thrusts. The build up is thick and intoxicating, completely consuming the last of your strength.
"Go ahead," he murmurs, his voice dropping to a raw, command as he drives deep, hitting that exact spot inside you with a sudden, unyielding precision. "Come for me."
With a final, deep thrust, the tension snaps. A loud gasp is knocked from your lungs as a shattering climax ripples through your entire body, your muscles clenching around him in violent, desperate waves. Your head falls back against the wet tile wall, your vision blurring into complete white.
As you unravel completely in his arms, the tight, relentless pressure of your body pushes Riki entirely over the edge. His control snaps completely. He lets out a sharp, ragged gasp that echoes off the shaking walls, his hips slamming forward one last time to bury his cock to the absolute hilt. He freezes right there, his entire body going completely rigid as he cums deeply inside you.
The heavy, breathless sounds of his release mix with the roar of the water as he spills his burning heat completely, filling you to the brink while holding you tightly against his chest.
The frantic motion completely stops, leaving only the loud, heavy sound of your synchronized, ragged breathing cutting through the steam. He stays buried deep inside you, his heart hammering wildly against your ribs, simply holding you up as the aftershocks slowly fade and the water continues to pour over your shared skin.
For a long, quiet minute, neither of you moves. Riki keeps his arms securely wrapped around you, his hands resting gently on your lower back to keep you anchored against him as the last of the tremors fade from your legs.
Slowly, carefully, he draws back just an inch, his cock slipping out of you with a soft, slick sound. Instead of stepping away, he turns his body to shield you from the direct spray, letting the hot water hit his back while he reaches down to adjust the handle, turning the flow into a gentle, warm mist.
He reaches for the bottle of body wash on the small corner shelf, pouring a generous amount into his palms until a thick, fragrant lather builds.
"Turn around," he murmurs softly, his voice deep and rough from exhaustion as his fingers gently coax your shoulders.
You comply, pressing your hands lightly against the tile wall for support as your muscles continue to feel like jelly. Riki steps up close behind you, his warm, soapy hands coming down onto your shoulders.
He begins to wash you, his movements slow and deliberate, a complete contrast to the power trip from earlier. His palms glide over the aching muscles of your back, working out the tension from both the workout and the shower, before tracing down the line of your spine.
His touch is incredibly tender as he cleans the sweat and the remnants of your intimacy from your thighs, his fingers moving with a quiet care that makes you melt completely against him. Once you’re completely clean, he pulls you back under the warm mist, using his hands to gently rinse the soap from your skin.
He takes a quick moment to soap himself down and rinse off, the water washing away the last of the exhaustion. When the soap is completely gone, he turns off the valve, the sudden silence in the enclosure heavy and peaceful.
He slides the glass door open, immediately reaching out to grab two large, plush towels from the rack before the cool bathroom air can hit your skin. He wraps one carefully around you, tucking the edges in to trap the remaining warmth of the shower, before wrapping the second one around his own waist.
Even with the towel shielding you, a small shiver runs through your body, your exhausted muscles still trembling slightly from the sheer intensity of the last hour. Riki notices instantly.
Without a word, he steps close, hooking one arm securely under your knees and the other behind your back, effortlessly lifting you into his arms.
"Riki, I can walk," you murmur weakly, your voice small and raspy against his neck, though your arms automatically loop around his shoulders for balance.
"Yeah right," he mutters, a soft, breathy chuckle vibrating in his chest as he carries you out of the damp, steam fogged bathroom. "Your legs were shaking just standing there. Just let me hold you."
He carries you into the quiet comfort of the bedroom. He deposits you gently onto the center of the mattress, taking a moment to use the edges of the towel to gently pat away any lingering droplets of water from your skin.
Once you’re dry, he pulls the heavy, thick duvet all the way up to your shoulders, tucking you in tightly like a cocoon to make sure you're warm. He slides his own towel off and tosses it toward a chair before slipping into the bed right beside you.
The mattress dips under his weight as he slides beneath the covers, immediately pulling you close until your back is pressed flat against his bare chest. He loops one heavy arm around your waist, pulling you tightly into his frame, his body heat radiating through you like a furnace.
For a long time, the room is completely silent, save for the hum of the apartment's air conditioning and the steady rhythm of your breathing. He rests his chin lightly against the crown of your head, his fingers tracking slow, lazy circles over the bare skin of your shoulder.
"Hey," he murmurs softly into the quiet room, his voice dropping to a low, vulnerable register that you only ever hear when it's just the two of you like this.
"Yeah?" you breathe out, your eyes already growing heavy as the warmth of the bed and the comforting weight of his arm soothe your exhausted mind.
His hand stops its movement for a second, his fingers gently gripping your waist a bit tighter, pulling you just a fraction closer against him.
"Sorry if I went too hard on you," he whispers, the rough edge completely gone from his tone, replaced by a genuine, quiet tenderness. "I know you were already tired from the gym. I just... lost my head a bit when I saw you in there."
Hearing the slight hint of worry in his voice makes you smile weakly in the dark. You shift slightly, turning your head just enough to press a soft kiss against the smooth skin of his forearm wrapped around you.
"It's okay," you murmur softly, your hand coming up to rest over his, intertwining your fingers together. "It felt good. I just really don't think I can move my legs until tomorrow."
A soft, genuinely happy laugh huffs out of his nose, his lips pressing a lingering, warm kiss into your hair. "Good. You don't have to move at all. I got you."
He resumes the slow, rhythmic tracing of his fingers against your skin. The fierce, unyielding force from the shower feels like a distant memory now, replaced entirely by the safe, protective bubble he’s built around you in the dark.
Your eyelids grow heavier and heavier with every breath he takes against your neck, your body completely melting into his solid frame. Riki adjusts the blanket one last time, pulling it securely over your shoulders and holding you tight against his chest, content to watch you slowly drift off to sleep in the quiet safety of his arms.
৻ꪆ SUMMARY : You and your lifelong best friends with mutual, unspoken lust finally break the tension during a late night game of Truth or Dare, exposing your true feelings.
৻ꪆ CONTENTS : MDNI (18+) ⋆ dom!ryul ⋆ down bad ryul ⋆ extremely needy ryul ⋆ built up tension ⋆ clothes ripping ⋆ choking ⋆ unprotected sex ⋆ mutual pinning ⋆ aftercare
taglist : @amyishere123 @444pondju
৻ꪆ PAIRING : ryul x f!reader
৻ꪆ WORDCOUNT : 3.6k
The rain is drumming a steady, mindless rhythm against your bedroom window, the kind of white noise that usually puts you straight to sleep. Tonight, though, you’re wide awake, propped up against a mountain of pillows with a half empty bag of sour gummies balanced on your stomach.
At the foot of your bed, completely taking up all the legroom, is Ryul.
He’s wearing a pair of grey sweatpants, and a faded t-shirt that stretches tightly across his shoulders when he shifts. Right now, he’s aggressively tossing a small plush pillow into the air and catching it with one hand, his eyes glued to the TV screen where some low budget horror movie is playing on mute.
"I'm telling you, if she goes into the basement, I’m turning this off," Ryul mutters, his voice carrying that low, edge it always gets when it’s past midnight. He catches the pillow without looking, his fingers sinking into the fabric.
"Oh shut up, Ryul," you laugh, nudging his thigh with your foot. "You cried during the trailer. Don’t act tough now."
Ryul scoffs, turning his head to look at you. The dim glow of the television catches the sharp line of his jaw and the soft, dark mess of his hair. A lazy, lopsided smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "I did not cry. I had a hair in my eye. There's a difference."
"Right. A very emotional hair."
He rolls his eyes, but the smile stays, warm and familiar. It’s the same look he’s given you for years. The one that used to just mean we’re idiots, but lately, has started making your chest feel tight. You try to blame it on the two mixed drinks you both knocked back an hour ago, or the suffocating humidity of the summer night, but you know better.
The truth is, the air between you two has been changing. It’s heavy. It’s the way his eyes linger on your mouth a second too long when you laugh, or how his hand always finds the small of your back whenever he guides you through a crowded room.
You’re both so hopelessly into each other it’s practically pathetic, a mutual, unspoken longing that neither of you has had the guts to voice. So instead, you play the roles of perfect best friends, ignoring the way the tension thickens every time your skin accidentally brushes his.
Ryul tosses the plush pillow aside, suddenly sitting up and crossing his legs. He rests his elbows on his knees, leaning in closer to you. The sudden shift in proximity makes your pulse hitch.
"I'm bored," he announces, his dark eyes locked onto yours. "The movie sucks, you're making fun of my fake tears, and I’m too wired to sleep."
"Well, what do you want to do then?" you ask, tilting your head.
Ryul's gaze drops to your lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up. A mischievous, slightly smug glint flashes in his eyes. "Let's play a game."
"Like what?"
"Truth or Dare," he says, a low chuckle escaping him. He reaches over, his fingers lightly brushing against your ankle as he moves, sending a sharp jolt of adrenaline straight up your spine. "No backing out, no chickening. Just honesty. You down?"
You swallow hard, your heart suddenly hammering against your ribs. Looking at the intensity in his face, you get the distinct feeling that this game is going to cause some serious problems.
"Fine," you challenge softly, holding his gaze. "You go first."
Ryul chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates right through the mattress. He leans back on his hands, tilting his head as he studies you, his dark eyes narrowed in playful calculation.
"Alright, let's start easy," he says, a smirk playing on his lips. "Truth or dare?"
"Truth," you say instantly, keeping your defensive walls up.
"Weak," he teases, rolling his eyes. "But fine. What's the biggest lie you've told me this month?"
You snort, leaning back against your pillows. "Easy. I told you your new haircut looked fine the day you got it. It actually looked like a bird tried to build a nest in it for the first twenty four hours."
Ryul gasps, throwing a hand over his chest in mock offense. "Wow. Remind me never to trust your compliments again.”
"My turn," you say, your voice dropping a fraction. "Truth or dare?"
"Truth," Ryul says, his eyes locked onto yours. He doesn't blink.
You lean forward, resting your chin in your hands. "Have you ever actually read any of those romance books you found on my nightstand, or were you just pretending to judge me?"
Ryul’s smirk fades into something a little more private, a little more intense. He holds your gaze, his voice dropping an octave. "I read a few chapters of one. The one with the dog eared pages." He pauses, his eyes dropping to your mouth before rising back up. "I wanted to see what kind of things make you lose it."
The sudden shift in his tone catches you completely off guard. Your throat goes dry, your heart doing a sudden, violent flip. He's testing the waters. He’s pushing the line that you’ve both spent months pretending didn't exist.
"Your turn," Ryul murmurs, his gaze heavy as he shifts closer, his knee now firmly pressed against your thigh. The heat radiating off him is suffocating. "Truth or dare?"
You catch your breath, refusing to let him win this little game. "Dare," you challenge, your voice steady despite the adrenaline spiking in your veins.
Ryul’s eyes darken. A slow, predatory smile creeps onto his face. "I dare you to sit on my lap for the next three rounds."
Your heart hammers against your ribs. You swallow the lump in your throat, holding his gaze as you slowly crawl over the space separating you, your movements deliberate, keeping your eyes locked onto his the entire time.
When you settle onto his lap, straddling his thighs, you hear his breath hitch. You can feel the rigid tension in his muscles, the way his hands twitch against the mattress like he's fighting the urge to grab your waist.
You lean in close, your face inches from his, mimicking his earlier posture. You can smell the clean, sharp scent of his cologne mixed with the faint sweetness of the drinks.
"Truth or dare, Ryul," you whisper, your eyes dropping to his lips in a deliberate, agonizingly slow tease.
You think you’ve won. You think you’ve caught him off guard.
But Ryul just stares up at you, his pupils completely blown, the easygoing best friend completely vanishing from his expression.
He doesn't break. Instead, his jaw tightens, and before you can even register the shift, his large hands come up, wrapping firmly around your hips. He grips you tight, his fingers digging into your skin through the fabric of your clothes, and effortlessly hauls you a fraction of an inch closer until there is absolutely no space left between your bodies. You can feel the hard, pulsing heat of him pressing right against you.
"Truth," he rasps out, his voice thick, entirely stripped of its usual playfulness. He tilts his head up, his breath hot against your lips, completely commanding the space. He tilts your hips just a fraction, a subtle, pressured movement that forces a soft gasp from your throat.
His grip on your waist tightens, pinning you in place, making it entirely clear who is in control of this game now.
"Ask me your question," Ryul murmurs, his dark eyes burning into yours, completely undone. "But choose your words very carefully."
The air in the room is suddenly so thick you can barely breathe it in. Every ounce of playfulness is stripped away, replaced by a heavy, suffocating weight that has been building between you for years.
Ryul doesn't let go of your hips. If anything, his fingers dig deeper into your skin, anchoring you to him as if he's terrified you'll pull away, or as if he’s entirely lost the capacity to let you go. The heat rolling off his body is suffocating, making you dizzy as you sit stranded over his thighs.
"You're not asking," Ryul says, his voice dropping to a rough, ragged whisper that sends a violent shiver straight down your spine. He leans in closer, his chest pressing hard against yours, forcing your back to arch slightly. "What's the matter? Forgot the question?"
"Ryul—" Your voice breaks, a tiny, breathless sound that betrays exactly how undone you are.
Hearing his name on your lips makes something click behind his eyes. The last thread of his restraint completely snaps.
He lets out a low, guttural growl, his grip shifting from your hips to the back of your thighs, effortlessly lifting you up just enough to pull you flush against him. The friction of the movement makes your breath catch in a sharp gasp.
Ryul tilts his chin up, his eyes fixed entirely on your mouth, completely gone by the sight of you looking so helpless beneath his gaze.
"Screw the game," he mutters, his breath hot against your skin as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling sharply. His lips brush against your pulse point, sending a jolt of pure adrenaline through your veins.
"I'm sick of pretending. I'm so fucked up for you, it’s driving me insane."
You wrap your arms around his shoulders, your fingers instantly tangling in the soft, messy strands of his hair, pulling him closer.
The sheer desperation in his voice triggers something wild inside you. You lean back just enough to look at him, your chests heaving in sync.
Ryul’s eyes are completely dark, filled with a raw, predatory hunger you’ve never seen in him before. His hand slides up your torso, his large palm burning through your shirt as he grips your jaw.
"If I kiss you right now," he breathes, his thumb pressing firmly against your bottom lip, dragging it down just a fraction, "I'm not stopping. Tell me to stop now, or I swear—"
You don't let him finish. You lean down, closing the distance, and press your lips to his.
The collision is explosive. Ryul lets out a sharp, ragged breath into your mouth, his hand immediately moving from your jaw to the back of your head, fistfuls of your hair anchoring you to him as he deepens the kiss with an intense, desperate urgency. It’s rough, uncoordinated, and utterly perfect driven by years of suppressed longing.
He tastes like the sweet liquor you drank earlier, but the heat of his mouth is entirely his own. He devours your lips, his tongue sliding past yours in a frantic rhythm that leaves you completely breathless, whimpering softly into his mouth.
The sound only seems to make him wilder. His other hand tears at the hem of your shirt, his rough palms making direct contact with the bare skin of your waist, sending waves of intense heat crashing through you as he pulls you closer, desperate to eliminate every single inch of remaining space between you.
Ryul pulls back just an inch, his lips wet and swollen, his chest heaving violently against yours. His eyes are entirely filled with a wild, feral intensity as he stares up at you. He looks completely unhinged, caught in the grip of a hunger that has been rotting away at him for years.
"Your shirt," he pants out, his voice a ruined, gravelly rasp against your mouth. "Take it off."
You don't even have time to move before his hands are under the fabric, bunching it up and hauling it over your head in one violent, impatient motion. The material catches slightly on your arms, and you hear a sharp rip along the seam as he literally tears it away from your body, tossing it blindly over the edge of the bed.
The cool air of the bedroom hits your bare skin for a split second before Ryul replaces it with the scorching heat of his own body.
He hovers over you, his eyes scanning every inch of your exposed skin with a terrifyingly hungry gaze. His jaw is clenched so tight a muscle leaps in his cheek.
"You have no idea," he rasps, his large hands coming down to pin your wrists to the mattress on either side of your head. His grip is like iron, completely restricting your movement. "No idea what you do to me. I've sat on this exact bed for months watching you, wanting to do this, wanting to ruin you until you couldn't think of anyone else."
He leans down, burying his face in your chest, his mouth devouring the sensitive skin of your collarbone. He bites down, not enough to break the skin, but hard enough to force a loud, high pitched whimper from your throat. He sucks firmly on the mark, his tongue soothing the sting in a slow, torturous rhythm that makes your hips instinctively roll up against his.
The friction makes Ryul let out a sharp, choked sound. He breaks away from your neck, his eyes snapping to yours, completely broken by the contact.
"Don't move like that unless you want this over in two seconds. I've been waiting too damn long to rush this." he warns, his voice shaking with a dangerous level of restraint.
With one hand now pinning both of your wrists above your head, he uses his free hand to reach down, his fingers gripping the waistband of your shorts. Dragging them down your legs along with your underwear, exposing you completely to his heavy, burning gaze.
The vulnerability makes you shiver, your knees instinctively trying to close, but Ryul immediately wedges his thigh between yours. He forces your legs wide apart, his large hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, his rough palm sending waves of electric heat crashing straight to your core.
"Look at me," Ryul commands, his voice dropping to a dark, breathless whisper as his fingers brush against the aching, damp center of you. You gasp, your back arching off the bed, but his hand on your wrists keeps you pinned. He stares directly into your eyes as he slips one long finger inside you, testing how ruined you already are for him. "Let me see exactly how much you want this."
Ryul lets out a dark, approving hum as his finger slides deep inside you, the slick friction of the movement drawing a broken cry from your lips. He doesn’t wait, immediately adding a second finger, stretching you open with a slow, deliberate rhythm that makes your mind go completely blank.
"You’re so wet for me," he pants, his thumb pressing firmly against your sensitive core, rubbing in tight, agonizing circles. "You've been thinking about this too, haven't you?"
You can only nod frantically, your hips rolling upward, desperately seeking more of the blistering friction. Your pinned wrists twitch against his iron grip, wanting nothing more than to wrap around his neck and pull him down.
"Please, Ryul..." you whimpered, the word slipping out before you can stop it.
"Please what?" he says, his pace quickening, his fingers turning you completely inside out. He leans down, his face inches from yours, his breath dragging heavily across your lips. "Tell me what you want."
"You. I want you."
Ryul’s jaw tightens, a sudden, fierce flash of possessiveness taking over his features. He abruptly withdraws his fingers, leaving you cold and aching, but before you can even protest, he’s unbuttoning his pants. He kicks them off along with his boxers, and when he moves back over you, the sheer size and heavy, throbbing heat of him pressing against your thigh makes your breath hitch.
He grabs your knees, pushing them all the way up toward your chest, completely opening you up, exposing you to his dark, unblinking gaze. He settles his weight between your thighs, the broad head of his length catching against your wetness.
"Look at me," he says, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. He reaches up, his large hand wrapping securely around your throat—not cutting off your air, but grounding you, pinning you to the mattress beneath his palm. "Keep your eyes on me."
You look up at him, your chest heaving, completely consumed by the feral, ravenous intensity in his eyes.
With one heavy, unyielding thrust, Ryul drives himself all the way inside you.
The sudden, stretching fullness forces a loud, high pitched gasp from your throat. He buries himself to the absolute hilt, his hips slamming hard against yours, the sheer impact sending a violent shockwave of pure desire straight to your core. Ryul freezes for a fraction of a second, his entire body rigid, his eyes blowing wide as he absorbs the tight squeeze of your walls.
A ragged, pained groan rips from his chest. “God, you're so tight," he chokes out, his fingers tightening slightly against your neck as he begins to move.
He doesn’t ease into it. Driven by years of agonizing restraint, Ryul begins to pound into you with a relentless pace. Every thrust is deep, hard, and punishing, his hips meeting yours with a wet, heavy slap that echoes in the quiet room. He completely dominates your body, the angle of his thrusts hitting your sweetest spot over and over until you’re sobbing his name into the space between your mouths.
Ryul lets out a harsh, broken breath against your ear, his movements becoming more frantic, more desperate as the friction between your bodies reaches a scorching breaking point. His entire body is slick with sweat, his muscles locked tight under the strain of trying—and failing—to hold himself back.
"Ryul, please," you sob out, your hands desperately clawing at his broad shoulders, your hips instinctively rising to meet every heavy, punishing thrust.
The sound of his name on your lips completely ruins him. He lets out a low groan, his grip on your waist tightening until his fingers dig deeply into your skin, pinning you flat against the mattress. He changes the angle, his hips slamming into yours with a sudden, devastatingly deep rhythm that makes your vision go completely spotty. You are entirely at his mercy, completely consumed by the sheer power of his body moving against yours.
"I can't—" Ryul gasps out, his teeth brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck as he bites down softly, his breath hitching violently. "I'm gonna cum. I can't hold it."
He doesn't give you a chance to answer. With one final, devastatingly hard thrust that buries him to the absolute hilt, Ryul stiffens completely. A ragged, animalistic sound rips from the back of his throat as his body shudders violently over yours, filling you completely with his thick release.
The intense sensation triggers your own arousal, your walls squeezing tightly around him in a series of helpless, overlapping spasms that leave you completely undone, crying out into the quiet room.
Ryul collapses against your chest, his heavy weight a comforting, suffocating presence as you both try to catch your breath.
His heart is hammering wildly against your ribs, his breath hot and ragged against your collarbone. He doesn't move away, keeping himself buried deep inside you as his hands slowly move up to cup your face, his thumbs gently wiping away the stray tears at the corners of your eyes.
The bedroom is completely quiet now, save for the sound of your overlapping, shallow breaths and the distant rhythm of the rain still tapping against the window.
Ryul doesn't move for a long time. He remains draped heavily over you, his forehead resting against the crook of your neck as his chest slowly expands and contracts against yours. The sheer intensity of what just happened hangs thick in the humid air, turning the initial wild adrenaline into a warm, heavy, and deeply intimate haze.
Slowly, Ryul shifts his weight, sliding out from inside you with a soft, quiet gasp escaping his lips. The sudden absence leaves you feeling cold, but he doesn't let the space last. He immediately pulls you against his side, wrapping one large arm around your waist and dragging you flush against his chest.
Your back is pressed to his front, his chin resting right on top of your head. His skin is still radiating an intense, comforting heat, and his heart is still drumming a frantic rhythm against your shoulder blades. His fingers lightly trace lazy, mindless circles across the bare skin of your stomach, his rough touch sending faint, lingering ripples of pleasure straight to your core.
"Hey," he whispers after a long silence, his voice incredibly low, vibrating right through your back. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of your head, his grip on your waist tightening just a fraction. "You okay?"
You nod against his chest, your fingers reaching down to interlace with his. "Yeah. More than okay."
Ryul lets out a breathy, quiet chuckle, his thumb rubbing comforting strokes over the back of your hand. The tension that had been rotting away at your friendship for months is completely gone, replaced by a deep, undeniable intimacy.
"Good," he murmurs, his eyes half-closed as he inhales the scent of your hair. "Because I'm not going back to how things were before tonight.”
The easy, uncomplicated safety of a platonic friendship had vanished the exact moment the game started, fully shattered by the sheer weight of what had been hidden beneath the surface for so long.
There was no going back to mindless late night hangouts, no pretending that the space between you was just empty air, and no putting the carefully built walls back up. Everything had been rewritten in the span of a single night.
As the quiet settled deeper into the room, the reality of it became entirely clear. The familiar dynamic you had protected for years was gone, completely consumed by the realization that you could never look at each other the same way again.
The friendship hadn't just changed it had been entirely undone, leaving behind something far more intense, permanent, and entirely unavoidable.
please be specific on who/what you want me to write about!
please don’t request anything explicit for anyone underage!
────────────────────
𑣲 CORTIS
(제임스) 𝙅𝘼𝙈𝙀𝙎
⋮ ⌗ 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘺 ┊(18+)
your fake fighter boyfriend is in love with you and you have no clue.
⋮ ⌗ 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 ┊(18+)
your bestfriend helps you get over your ex
𑣲 ENHYPEN
(니키) 𝙉𝙄-𝙆𝙄
⋮ ⌗ 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵 ┊(18+)
after a long workout session, you slip into the showers alone, but riki follows… and doesn’t leave.
⋮ ⌗ 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 ┊(18+)
accidentally walking in on riki fresh out of the shower leaves an unforgettable image burned into your mind, despite a mutual pact to never speak of it again, weeks of tension, finally pushes both of you to a boiling point.
𑣲 LNGSHOT
(오율) 𝙊𝙃𝙔𝙐𝙇
coming soon ↻
(률) 𝙍𝙔𝙐𝙇
⋮ ⌗ 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 ┊(18+)
you and your best friends with mutual, unspoken feelings finally break the tension during a late night game of truth or dare.
৻ꪆ SUMMARY : You and your lifelong best friends with mutual, unspoken lust finally break the tension during a late night game of Truth or Dare, exposing your true feelings.
৻ꪆ CONTENTS : MDNI (18+) ⋆ dom!ryul ⋆ down bad ryul ⋆ extremely needy ryul ⋆ built up tension ⋆ clothes ripping ⋆ choking ⋆ unprotected sex ⋆ mutual pinning ⋆ aftercare
taglist : @amyishere123 @444pondju
৻ꪆ PAIRING : ryul x f!reader
৻ꪆ WORDCOUNT : 3.6k
The rain is drumming a steady, mindless rhythm against your bedroom window, the kind of white noise that usually puts you straight to sleep. Tonight, though, you’re wide awake, propped up against a mountain of pillows with a half empty bag of sour gummies balanced on your stomach.
At the foot of your bed, completely taking up all the legroom, is Ryul.
He’s wearing a pair of grey sweatpants, and a faded t-shirt that stretches tightly across his shoulders when he shifts. Right now, he’s aggressively tossing a small plush pillow into the air and catching it with one hand, his eyes glued to the TV screen where some low budget horror movie is playing on mute.
"I'm telling you, if she goes into the basement, I’m turning this off," Ryul mutters, his voice carrying that low, edge it always gets when it’s past midnight. He catches the pillow without looking, his fingers sinking into the fabric.
"Oh shut up, Ryul," you laugh, nudging his thigh with your foot. "You cried during the trailer. Don’t act tough now."
Ryul scoffs, turning his head to look at you. The dim glow of the television catches the sharp line of his jaw and the soft, dark mess of his hair. A lazy, lopsided smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "I did not cry. I had a hair in my eye. There's a difference."
"Right. A very emotional hair."
He rolls his eyes, but the smile stays, warm and familiar. It’s the same look he’s given you for years. The one that used to just mean we’re idiots, but lately, has started making your chest feel tight. You try to blame it on the two mixed drinks you both knocked back an hour ago, or the suffocating humidity of the summer night, but you know better.
The truth is, the air between you two has been changing. It’s heavy. It’s the way his eyes linger on your mouth a second too long when you laugh, or how his hand always finds the small of your back whenever he guides you through a crowded room.
You’re both so hopelessly into each other it’s practically pathetic, a mutual, unspoken longing that neither of you has had the guts to voice. So instead, you play the roles of perfect best friends, ignoring the way the tension thickens every time your skin accidentally brushes his.
Ryul tosses the plush pillow aside, suddenly sitting up and crossing his legs. He rests his elbows on his knees, leaning in closer to you. The sudden shift in proximity makes your pulse hitch.
"I'm bored," he announces, his dark eyes locked onto yours. "The movie sucks, you're making fun of my fake tears, and I’m too wired to sleep."
"Well, what do you want to do then?" you ask, tilting your head.
Ryul's gaze drops to your lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up. A mischievous, slightly smug glint flashes in his eyes. "Let's play a game."
"Like what?"
"Truth or Dare," he says, a low chuckle escaping him. He reaches over, his fingers lightly brushing against your ankle as he moves, sending a sharp jolt of adrenaline straight up your spine. "No backing out, no chickening. Just honesty. You down?"
You swallow hard, your heart suddenly hammering against your ribs. Looking at the intensity in his face, you get the distinct feeling that this game is going to cause some serious problems.
"Fine," you challenge softly, holding his gaze. "You go first."
Ryul chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates right through the mattress. He leans back on his hands, tilting his head as he studies you, his dark eyes narrowed in playful calculation.
"Alright, let's start easy," he says, a smirk playing on his lips. "Truth or dare?"
"Truth," you say instantly, keeping your defensive walls up.
"Weak," he teases, rolling his eyes. "But fine. What's the biggest lie you've told me this month?"
You snort, leaning back against your pillows. "Easy. I told you your new haircut looked fine the day you got it. It actually looked like a bird tried to build a nest in it for the first twenty four hours."
Ryul gasps, throwing a hand over his chest in mock offense. "Wow. Remind me never to trust your compliments again.”
"My turn," you say, your voice dropping a fraction. "Truth or dare?"
"Truth," Ryul says, his eyes locked onto yours. He doesn't blink.
You lean forward, resting your chin in your hands. "Have you ever actually read any of those romance books you found on my nightstand, or were you just pretending to judge me?"
Ryul’s smirk fades into something a little more private, a little more intense. He holds your gaze, his voice dropping an octave. "I read a few chapters of one. The one with the dog eared pages." He pauses, his eyes dropping to your mouth before rising back up. "I wanted to see what kind of things make you lose it."
The sudden shift in his tone catches you completely off guard. Your throat goes dry, your heart doing a sudden, violent flip. He's testing the waters. He’s pushing the line that you’ve both spent months pretending didn't exist.
"Your turn," Ryul murmurs, his gaze heavy as he shifts closer, his knee now firmly pressed against your thigh. The heat radiating off him is suffocating. "Truth or dare?"
You catch your breath, refusing to let him win this little game. "Dare," you challenge, your voice steady despite the adrenaline spiking in your veins.
Ryul’s eyes darken. A slow, predatory smile creeps onto his face. "I dare you to sit on my lap for the next three rounds."
Your heart hammers against your ribs. You swallow the lump in your throat, holding his gaze as you slowly crawl over the space separating you, your movements deliberate, keeping your eyes locked onto his the entire time.
When you settle onto his lap, straddling his thighs, you hear his breath hitch. You can feel the rigid tension in his muscles, the way his hands twitch against the mattress like he's fighting the urge to grab your waist.
You lean in close, your face inches from his, mimicking his earlier posture. You can smell the clean, sharp scent of his cologne mixed with the faint sweetness of the drinks.
"Truth or dare, Ryul," you whisper, your eyes dropping to his lips in a deliberate, agonizingly slow tease.
You think you’ve won. You think you’ve caught him off guard.
But Ryul just stares up at you, his pupils completely blown, the easygoing best friend completely vanishing from his expression.
He doesn't break. Instead, his jaw tightens, and before you can even register the shift, his large hands come up, wrapping firmly around your hips. He grips you tight, his fingers digging into your skin through the fabric of your clothes, and effortlessly hauls you a fraction of an inch closer until there is absolutely no space left between your bodies. You can feel the hard, pulsing heat of him pressing right against you.
"Truth," he rasps out, his voice thick, entirely stripped of its usual playfulness. He tilts his head up, his breath hot against your lips, completely commanding the space. He tilts your hips just a fraction, a subtle, pressured movement that forces a soft gasp from your throat.
His grip on your waist tightens, pinning you in place, making it entirely clear who is in control of this game now.
"Ask me your question," Ryul murmurs, his dark eyes burning into yours, completely undone. "But choose your words very carefully."
The air in the room is suddenly so thick you can barely breathe it in. Every ounce of playfulness is stripped away, replaced by a heavy, suffocating weight that has been building between you for years.
Ryul doesn't let go of your hips. If anything, his fingers dig deeper into your skin, anchoring you to him as if he's terrified you'll pull away, or as if he’s entirely lost the capacity to let you go. The heat rolling off his body is suffocating, making you dizzy as you sit stranded over his thighs.
"You're not asking," Ryul says, his voice dropping to a rough, ragged whisper that sends a violent shiver straight down your spine. He leans in closer, his chest pressing hard against yours, forcing your back to arch slightly. "What's the matter? Forgot the question?"
"Ryul—" Your voice breaks, a tiny, breathless sound that betrays exactly how undone you are.
Hearing his name on your lips makes something click behind his eyes. The last thread of his restraint completely snaps.
He lets out a low, guttural growl, his grip shifting from your hips to the back of your thighs, effortlessly lifting you up just enough to pull you flush against him. The friction of the movement makes your breath catch in a sharp gasp.
Ryul tilts his chin up, his eyes fixed entirely on your mouth, completely gone by the sight of you looking so helpless beneath his gaze.
"Screw the game," he mutters, his breath hot against your skin as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling sharply. His lips brush against your pulse point, sending a jolt of pure adrenaline through your veins.
"I'm sick of pretending. I'm so fucked up for you, it’s driving me insane."
You wrap your arms around his shoulders, your fingers instantly tangling in the soft, messy strands of his hair, pulling him closer.
The sheer desperation in his voice triggers something wild inside you. You lean back just enough to look at him, your chests heaving in sync.
Ryul’s eyes are completely dark, filled with a raw, predatory hunger you’ve never seen in him before. His hand slides up your torso, his large palm burning through your shirt as he grips your jaw.
"If I kiss you right now," he breathes, his thumb pressing firmly against your bottom lip, dragging it down just a fraction, "I'm not stopping. Tell me to stop now, or I swear—"
You don't let him finish. You lean down, closing the distance, and press your lips to his.
The collision is explosive. Ryul lets out a sharp, ragged breath into your mouth, his hand immediately moving from your jaw to the back of your head, fistfuls of your hair anchoring you to him as he deepens the kiss with an intense, desperate urgency. It’s rough, uncoordinated, and utterly perfect driven by years of suppressed longing.
He tastes like the sweet liquor you drank earlier, but the heat of his mouth is entirely his own. He devours your lips, his tongue sliding past yours in a frantic rhythm that leaves you completely breathless, whimpering softly into his mouth.
The sound only seems to make him wilder. His other hand tears at the hem of your shirt, his rough palms making direct contact with the bare skin of your waist, sending waves of intense heat crashing through you as he pulls you closer, desperate to eliminate every single inch of remaining space between you.
Ryul pulls back just an inch, his lips wet and swollen, his chest heaving violently against yours. His eyes are entirely filled with a wild, feral intensity as he stares up at you. He looks completely unhinged, caught in the grip of a hunger that has been rotting away at him for years.
"Your shirt," he pants out, his voice a ruined, gravelly rasp against your mouth. "Take it off."
You don't even have time to move before his hands are under the fabric, bunching it up and hauling it over your head in one violent, impatient motion. The material catches slightly on your arms, and you hear a sharp rip along the seam as he literally tears it away from your body, tossing it blindly over the edge of the bed.
The cool air of the bedroom hits your bare skin for a split second before Ryul replaces it with the scorching heat of his own body.
He hovers over you, his eyes scanning every inch of your exposed skin with a terrifyingly hungry gaze. His jaw is clenched so tight a muscle leaps in his cheek.
"You have no idea," he rasps, his large hands coming down to pin your wrists to the mattress on either side of your head. His grip is like iron, completely restricting your movement. "No idea what you do to me. I've sat on this exact bed for months watching you, wanting to do this, wanting to ruin you until you couldn't think of anyone else."
He leans down, burying his face in your chest, his mouth devouring the sensitive skin of your collarbone. He bites down, not enough to break the skin, but hard enough to force a loud, high pitched whimper from your throat. He sucks firmly on the mark, his tongue soothing the sting in a slow, torturous rhythm that makes your hips instinctively roll up against his.
The friction makes Ryul let out a sharp, choked sound. He breaks away from your neck, his eyes snapping to yours, completely broken by the contact.
"Don't move like that unless you want this over in two seconds. I've been waiting too damn long to rush this." he warns, his voice shaking with a dangerous level of restraint.
With one hand now pinning both of your wrists above your head, he uses his free hand to reach down, his fingers gripping the waistband of your shorts. Dragging them down your legs along with your underwear, exposing you completely to his heavy, burning gaze.
The vulnerability makes you shiver, your knees instinctively trying to close, but Ryul immediately wedges his thigh between yours. He forces your legs wide apart, his large hand sliding up the inside of your thigh, his rough palm sending waves of electric heat crashing straight to your core.
"Look at me," Ryul commands, his voice dropping to a dark, breathless whisper as his fingers brush against the aching, damp center of you. You gasp, your back arching off the bed, but his hand on your wrists keeps you pinned. He stares directly into your eyes as he slips one long finger inside you, testing how ruined you already are for him. "Let me see exactly how much you want this."
Ryul lets out a dark, approving hum as his finger slides deep inside you, the slick friction of the movement drawing a broken cry from your lips. He doesn’t wait, immediately adding a second finger, stretching you open with a slow, deliberate rhythm that makes your mind go completely blank.
"You’re so wet for me," he pants, his thumb pressing firmly against your sensitive core, rubbing in tight, agonizing circles. "You've been thinking about this too, haven't you?"
You can only nod frantically, your hips rolling upward, desperately seeking more of the blistering friction. Your pinned wrists twitch against his iron grip, wanting nothing more than to wrap around his neck and pull him down.
"Please, Ryul..." you whimpered, the word slipping out before you can stop it.
"Please what?" he says, his pace quickening, his fingers turning you completely inside out. He leans down, his face inches from yours, his breath dragging heavily across your lips. "Tell me what you want."
"You. I want you."
Ryul’s jaw tightens, a sudden, fierce flash of possessiveness taking over his features. He abruptly withdraws his fingers, leaving you cold and aching, but before you can even protest, he’s unbuttoning his pants. He kicks them off along with his boxers, and when he moves back over you, the sheer size and heavy, throbbing heat of him pressing against your thigh makes your breath hitch.
He grabs your knees, pushing them all the way up toward your chest, completely opening you up, exposing you to his dark, unblinking gaze. He settles his weight between your thighs, the broad head of his length catching against your wetness.
"Look at me," he says, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. He reaches up, his large hand wrapping securely around your throat—not cutting off your air, but grounding you, pinning you to the mattress beneath his palm. "Keep your eyes on me."
You look up at him, your chest heaving, completely consumed by the feral, ravenous intensity in his eyes.
With one heavy, unyielding thrust, Ryul drives himself all the way inside you.
The sudden, stretching fullness forces a loud, high pitched gasp from your throat. He buries himself to the absolute hilt, his hips slamming hard against yours, the sheer impact sending a violent shockwave of pure desire straight to your core. Ryul freezes for a fraction of a second, his entire body rigid, his eyes blowing wide as he absorbs the tight squeeze of your walls.
A ragged, pained groan rips from his chest. “God, you're so tight," he chokes out, his fingers tightening slightly against your neck as he begins to move.
He doesn’t ease into it. Driven by years of agonizing restraint, Ryul begins to pound into you with a relentless pace. Every thrust is deep, hard, and punishing, his hips meeting yours with a wet, heavy slap that echoes in the quiet room. He completely dominates your body, the angle of his thrusts hitting your sweetest spot over and over until you’re sobbing his name into the space between your mouths.
Ryul lets out a harsh, broken breath against your ear, his movements becoming more frantic, more desperate as the friction between your bodies reaches a scorching breaking point. His entire body is slick with sweat, his muscles locked tight under the strain of trying—and failing—to hold himself back.
"Ryul, please," you sob out, your hands desperately clawing at his broad shoulders, your hips instinctively rising to meet every heavy, punishing thrust.
The sound of his name on your lips completely ruins him. He lets out a low groan, his grip on your waist tightening until his fingers dig deeply into your skin, pinning you flat against the mattress. He changes the angle, his hips slamming into yours with a sudden, devastatingly deep rhythm that makes your vision go completely spotty. You are entirely at his mercy, completely consumed by the sheer power of his body moving against yours.
"I can't—" Ryul gasps out, his teeth brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck as he bites down softly, his breath hitching violently. "I'm gonna cum. I can't hold it."
He doesn't give you a chance to answer. With one final, devastatingly hard thrust that buries him to the absolute hilt, Ryul stiffens completely. A ragged, animalistic sound rips from the back of his throat as his body shudders violently over yours, filling you completely with his thick release.
The intense sensation triggers your own arousal, your walls squeezing tightly around him in a series of helpless, overlapping spasms that leave you completely undone, crying out into the quiet room.
Ryul collapses against your chest, his heavy weight a comforting, suffocating presence as you both try to catch your breath.
His heart is hammering wildly against your ribs, his breath hot and ragged against your collarbone. He doesn't move away, keeping himself buried deep inside you as his hands slowly move up to cup your face, his thumbs gently wiping away the stray tears at the corners of your eyes.
The bedroom is completely quiet now, save for the sound of your overlapping, shallow breaths and the distant rhythm of the rain still tapping against the window.
Ryul doesn't move for a long time. He remains draped heavily over you, his forehead resting against the crook of your neck as his chest slowly expands and contracts against yours. The sheer intensity of what just happened hangs thick in the humid air, turning the initial wild adrenaline into a warm, heavy, and deeply intimate haze.
Slowly, Ryul shifts his weight, sliding out from inside you with a soft, quiet gasp escaping his lips. The sudden absence leaves you feeling cold, but he doesn't let the space last. He immediately pulls you against his side, wrapping one large arm around your waist and dragging you flush against his chest.
Your back is pressed to his front, his chin resting right on top of your head. His skin is still radiating an intense, comforting heat, and his heart is still drumming a frantic rhythm against your shoulder blades. His fingers lightly trace lazy, mindless circles across the bare skin of your stomach, his rough touch sending faint, lingering ripples of pleasure straight to your core.
"Hey," he whispers after a long silence, his voice incredibly low, vibrating right through your back. He presses a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of your head, his grip on your waist tightening just a fraction. "You okay?"
You nod against his chest, your fingers reaching down to interlace with his. "Yeah. More than okay."
Ryul lets out a breathy, quiet chuckle, his thumb rubbing comforting strokes over the back of your hand. The tension that had been rotting away at your friendship for months is completely gone, replaced by a deep, undeniable intimacy.
"Good," he murmurs, his eyes half-closed as he inhales the scent of your hair. "Because I'm not going back to how things were before tonight.”
The easy, uncomplicated safety of a platonic friendship had vanished the exact moment the game started, fully shattered by the sheer weight of what had been hidden beneath the surface for so long.
There was no going back to mindless late night hangouts, no pretending that the space between you was just empty air, and no putting the carefully built walls back up. Everything had been rewritten in the span of a single night.
As the quiet settled deeper into the room, the reality of it became entirely clear. The familiar dynamic you had protected for years was gone, completely consumed by the realization that you could never look at each other the same way again.
The friendship hadn't just changed it had been entirely undone, leaving behind something far more intense, permanent, and entirely unavoidable.
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