WOULD YOU?

you held up your own ring to the light, heart fluttering at how even the dimmest of such could make the diamonds along the band shimmer in radiance. how you wish its brilliance could somehow kindle a spark of your own.

it wasn't that you weren't excited; you were rather enthralled, really. still had a substantial amount of spunk despite the afterparty running later than intended (no doubt due to jake's challenge to jay on the dancefloor), and had been waiting for what felt like ages for this night specifically.

this sentiment, however, did not negate the anxiety that came with it. the feeling seemed to cling to you from the moment you entered the honeymoon suite; remained there as you freshened up from the night's events, as if insulted by the thought you could simply wash it away. it was amazing, really; how persistent nerves could be.

though the feeling had been ever so relentless, it is with a swift turn from the mirror that you ground yourself in the moment. the band along your finger had no doubt come with a lot; you simply hoped that it would somehow grant you enough courage to not only enjoy the night, but own it.

so, just before you exit the bathroom in the suite-provided silk robe, you bring the gold to your lips, and give the door a push.

your heart thuds in anticipation as you cross the threshold into the rose-petaled main room, already feeling the presence of eyes along your figure.

it's only when you meet the dark orbs from across the room, that you swear it nearly stops altogether.

he sits on the edge of the bed in loose-fitting clothing and with a dew of blond hair that refuses to completely dry. he'd only taken a few minutes in the shower earlier, one you convinced him to take alone while you'd rested up your feet —truly, it was to steady your nerves, and albeit a fruitless attempt— and now remained hunched over, twisting his own jewelry in hand.

you wondered if the same thoughts floated around his mind. if he wondered what the events of tonight would entail, and so on. if he had been confident about the transition from mere lovers to lifemates, and how it would show up in aspects of life big and small: from tonight to forever.

if he does ponder the thought, a soft smile etches its way into his features in response to it; or perhaps it is the trail of vanilla and cocoa you leave in your wake that does it. nonetheless you watch as he straightens his figure out in your presence, dropping the finger from the band as you near the edge of the bed.

"hey baby," he says, the darkness in his eyes as deep as the tone of the voice that brings the words. "you look nice."

you offer a small smile back, a larger one threatening to spill from the growing anticipation of his words. you nearly need to bite it back as you watch his eyes dance along the thin fabric of your robe. "thank you, ki,"

"mhm," he hums, extending his arms to snake around your waist when you stand before him at the satin-dressed mattress. "looked so nice all day, today," he says. "beautiful."

"so did you," you say, and nearly feel your breath hitch at the way his arms tighten around your waist. or perhaps it's at the days recollection, the velvet suit he'd worn as he spoke his vows. the tears, with pride in his eyes as you'd spoken yours in his native tongue. the smile he'd worn on the ballroom floor at the reception. it was the happiest you think you'd seen him to date. "my handsome husband."

"my lovely wife," the warm light of the suite; just as with the diamonds, does nothing to dull the sparkle in his eyes as he looks up at you. "my gorgeous girl."

his words cause a stir in your chest, and you feel the pressing thud of your heart against it. you liked how both words sounded, vastly different, yet somehow synonymous. "wife," you repeat, the smile on your lips stretching ever so slightly. then, curiously: "still girl?"

a chuckle leaves his lips, warm and low. "still my girl," he utters, placing a kiss along your waist in between words. "always my girl."

a pooling sensation at his touch accompanies the thrum against your chest. you let yourself bathe in his gentle words, willing the heat of the pressing anxiety to see itself out. always sounded as lovely as forever on his lips, but it's as if your mind could not fathom that it all began tonight.

his girl, you think. once his fiancée, now his wife. eventually a mother, and undoubtedly something more permanent to come.

as his hands steady themselves along your hips, you wonder how he would remember this evening. would the passage of time change the memory as easily as it had titles? would he look back at this moment, and hold it with the same reverence as he did you?

he seems to pick up on your silence, because the syllables of his concern emit in a low hum along your sparsely clothed skin. "that okay, hun?" he asks. "hm?"

you only nod, willing the shake in your fingers to steady as they find solace in the damp hair of your husband. a hum of acknowledgment leaves your lips in response, not low enough to be unheard; hopefully loud enough to rival the sound of your heart.

no matter, though. it seems as if the vague noise hadn't been enough to satisfy his thoughts. "talk to me, pretty." he pauses, looking up at you with eyes so dark you could lose yourself in them. "what's wrong?"

you bite your lip, bringing your hands from his hair toward yours. "it's not.....it's nothing, really." you say. "i....i just—" you start, in a defeated tone, as the preposition had been ridiculous. "i feel......nervous?"

as soon as the words leave, you wish you could stuff them back in. "it's silly, i know, but—"

riki's grip loosens from your body, and he shakes his head at the words, as if to affirm they are indeed frivolous, though not for the reason you insist. "s'not silly," he cooes, bringing his hand up to cup your warm cheek. "not at all."

he breathes along your skin, speaking the words back ever so gently. "i am, too." he says, a tinge of color dressing his cheeks. "been nervous all day."

it understandably had been a mutual feeling throughout the day, of course. after having planned out the event for up to a year, to hoping every intricate detail unfolded as well as it did on paper. from the vows, to the wardrobe, to the songs of the choir.

but that was just it; you could plan a wedding; choose how many tiers a cake would have, what flavor it would be; how many guests there were and who would sit with whom. you could not plan down to a t how the night of your wedding would go. could not predict how you'd feel after the weight of the event, the accumulation of every intricate choice and painstaking decision from over the past year. how unorthodox or traditional the night would be after everything. all you knew was that just as the event had been, you needed everything that followed to hold the same glint of glory.

"but also," riki adds, bringing his hand from your cheek to grab yours and bring it down to hold. "i've been very excited."

you nod in agreement, feeling the weight lift only some. "this is...our wedding night," you say, swallowing at the thought. "everyone remembers their wedding night."

it's true; the good and the bad, the pretty and ugly. the fostered promises and catalyst for many more. tonight was completely ceremonial, a display of true devotion, and one to remember. was it so much to hope that this, just as the wedding day had been, would be perfect?

he swipes his thumb across your hand. "we will, too," he says, a hint of pride in his tone. "whether we end up shaking the bed or....." he raises a brow, joy in his features. "ordering a pizza."

a laugh leaves your lips at that, and you feel a bit more of the tension slip from your body. it's only furthered when he picks up your ringed hand, before bringing the cool sensation to his lips. then, as if reading your mind: "tonight will be memorable and perfect, because it is ours," he says, in a tone reminiscent of the vows he made earlier, tinged with the intimacy of the words belonging solely to you. "because i am me, and you are you."

as he trailed kisses along your waist, you drank in his words like a potation. if the very essence of them was what brought him peace, it was no surprise that you began to feel the same way. tonight had been reserved for you both, and that alone. not to exist in a memory; not merely for older, and wearier versions of yourself to look back on with pride; but for you both, here and now.

so, rather than shying away from the persistent thud in your chest, you use it as an anchor. allow the anticipation of the night to guide you; or in this case, your fingers into the strands of his hair.

he hums at the contact, the vibration spreading along your belly as you scrunch at the dampened blond. the heat that rests within your core threatens to spill when his low-lidded eyes find yours again, a newfound question about them.

it's only when his hands meet your sides again, before offering a possessive squeeze, that he decides to verbalize it. "this alright?" he asks. "wanna keep going?"

you nod slowly, tugging at the hair between your fingers. it's nothing more than a gentle one, of course, though it's enough to emit a groan from riki that makes your already struggling chest ache. "mm," he lets out, his eyes fluttering shut at the sensation.

when they open again, they are filled to the brim with something heavy. his hands tug at your hips, willing your body closer. "c'mere,"

so you do. slowly hook your leg over his to lower yourself into a straddle along the edge. when you're seated upon his lap, he shifts backward a bit, as to make space, before running his hands along your sides. his touch is slow, reverent, despite the slipping restraint prevalent in his features.

you watch as he eyes the slip of your robe, his fingers tracing the fabric, as if teasing the thought of letting it unravel. to both your surprise, however, it's you who ends up reaching to loosen the strap first, letting the silk robe fall in a pool along his straddled legs.

he doesn't say much at first; simply bites his lips as he devours you with his gaze. then, his hands shift from your sides to your back, supporting your frame to bring you closer, the peaks of your chest to his clothed one. he beckons you down further, inviting your lips to his in a single swoop.

when the pair meet his in a dangerous dance, the pressure moves to a firmer, more certain tempo. he lets out another groan, a deep one into your mouth that begets a pool of need below your belly. unintentionally, you find yourself whining into the way his lips move against your own.

there's a soft chuckle you let out at the noise, pulling away only briefly to offer gentler pecks in between. "mm, that's it," he utters, a smile in his voice. "sound so pretty,"

a shiver runs along your spine in the same manner his fingers do, before he opens his mouth to explore more of yours. you ground yourself into his lap, feeling and needing to kiss to deepen. and as the heat of the moment expands, you find your very inhibitions slipping, too.

you feel your weight shift as he leans back into the mattress, pulling you with him. he hurriedly pushes the swan-rolled towel out of the way to make space for the entangled bodies that chase each other's end at an agonizing pace.

hovering over his body, you tug at the hem of his shirt to free him from the fabric. he lifts up to follow the lead, a flex in his abdomen as you pull the garment from his chiseled figure. after the brief break in the kiss, the shirt is immediately disregarded, riki taking not a second longer to bring your bare chest flush to his.

his fingers find themselves curling into your back, not with enough fervor to leave marks, though a clear signal that it is to come. the pressing tent of his pants beneath you aids in the thought as he grunts, murmuring sweet praises and gentle 'love you's' between kisses.

when you're nearly breathless from the lustful haze, he pulls back some, positioning your body so that you remain at a height above his own. a gasp leaves your lips when the warmth of his mouth finds your peak, tongue twisting and teasing around the nipple.

he breaks apart only to engulf the other, eyes trained on every squint of bliss, tremble of lip, and pleased microexpression you have to offer as he suckles. the warmth spreads as he moves his licks and flicks in decadent circles along your breasts, enough so as to ignite a flame. and when you grip the sheets for support, it only propels him forward, as if lapping up every crumbling edge of your disposition.

"ri.....ki," you moan, vision blurring in a haze as pleasure tears at the seams. "that feels......"

he continues to stroke along your bare back, one hand drifting down to the curve of your ass. "that good, pretty?" he gives a squeeze of the sensitive flesh, then a low smack. "hm?"

"mhm," you whimper back, willing your arms to remain steady. it's nearly useless, the attempt, when his hands drift further down, past your ass to rest the palm there. his fingers pluck at the flimsy thong you wear, pulling it to the side to run a soft touch along your folds.

a gasp frees itself from your lips, and you unconsciously push back into the digits, aching for more pressure. "shitt," you hiss, the growing need shifting from a low heat to a gentle throb at your core. "ki, that's.....fuck,"

a scrunch finds his brows as he nibbles along your skin from beneath your body. one you'd count as taunting if it hadn't been paired with such gentle eyes. "huh, baby?" he cooes, tracing gentle circles along your sweet spot. "tell me what you need, mm?"

pressing deeper into his touch is the answer you give, a low whimper stuck in your throat as the slick along your slit audibly dresses his fingers. "m....more," you manage to squeak out between shaky breaths. "more press...ure, please."

the shockwaves that follow his grant to your plea are instant, a burst of bliss spreading from your center along every string of nerves below your waist. the pressure builds to your liking, the pace speeding to a tactful rub along the bundle of nerves. you feel your jaw drop at the euphoria his hands move, swipe, and twist around your clit. "shit ki, fuck,"

his eyes don't leave yours, despite the way they flutter with every stroke of his touch. "like that, baby?"

you nod shamelessly, growing dizzy with every flick of his hand as he moves. "that's......perfect.....god, ki,"

moans leave your lips freely now, only encouraging the movement of his digits between your legs. the sound of your moisture clicks through the air as he presses a finger inside your warmth, offering a slow push that has your toes curling at the sensation it offers.

he chases this reaction, watching as you tremble and twist under his touch as he alternates between finger-fucking and drifting along your clit with precision. he pauses his nibbles along your skin to chew at his own lip, as if in awe by your undoing. "damn, baby." he utters, brows drawn in veneration. "look so good like this,"

his words are the tipping point to your high. because in mere moments, as he hooks his nimble fingers around the slick spot of your heat, you feel a growing tide threaten to spill as he moves. "oh.....my.....fuck, ki," you moan, knuckles straining at the grasp of cotton fabric. "i'm.....gonna—"

he grunts at your choked words, his fingers flattening to splay your arousal around your sensitive nub in a devastatingly quick pace. "atta girl," he says. "let go for me,"

you clench uncontrollably around his finger that plunges into you again, mouth agape and freeing jagged breaths as he pushes. riki pulls out of your tightening cunt just before the spasm attacks, back to rubbing wet, messy circles as the wave crashes down.

"huh.....hnggh!" you squeal, trembling as your orgasm takes you, spilling over your body, just as swears do from your lips. "f....f—fuuuck!"

riki's chest rises and falls at your high, as if soaking in all he'd earned. he presses gentle kisses between whispers along your chest, steadying your body with firm hands along your sides. "easy, hun."

you only whimper in agreement, nearly dropping to his chest from the weight of it all. he only tightens his hold, offering support from below as you return to your body.

and when you do, —or rather, mostly so— there's a hyperawareness of the very clothed growing member beneath you. it sends a jolt through you when you press down, as if aching to give pressure to his need.

he lets out a hiss at the friction, your slick dampening the cotton fabric of his pants in the slow movement. his eyes peer up at yours with a look of fraying restraint, before he brings his ringed hand up to your chin. the gentle orbs swim with a question, as if to make sure everything is still okay.

despite the way your heart trips, you answer by grinding harder onto his lap, earning another low rumble from his chest. you press your chest against his to capture another kiss, this one slower, though not at all delicate.

he moans into your mouth, moving your body toward his abs to tug at his pants. his underwear slips with them, as evident by the way his member slaps against your heat the second it is freed. you gasp at the pressing length, and the sound is enough for him to break the kiss.

he brings his hand up to your face again, verbalizing the concern. "still nervous?"

with the pressing need below your waist, you'd like to say no. but as riki, with dark eyes and tinged hair; your husband, in all his glory, looks back at you, you can't be so sure.

perhaps there would come a day when eyeing him wouldn't send a flutter of butterflies to your belly. maybe soon another when a gentle flush would not coat his cheeks as he eyed your body. perhaps only time would tell how your reactions would shift as life made its way around you.

and though many inhibitions had slipped in the heat of the moment, your heart does not stop its thunderous melody as you stare at the thousands of possibilities within your husband's eyes. nervous could not begin to cover the wave of emotion you felt for him in this moment. you couldn't think of a word that truly could, as you took his hand from your face, and into your own. not here, and maybe not even for years to come.

and for tonight, that was okay.

you bend down to take his lips again, finding your anchor in him to continue. you offer a hum that tells all; while ringing with the truth you decide to whisper. "i want this," you say. "want you."

riki hums at the declaration, a burning ache of his own at your entrance beading with precum. despite the pool of want that surrounds you both, he takes his time, clutching your hand back as if to ease the flutter in your core.

"that's right, pretty," he speaks, acknowledging the words, as well as the tinge of reservation behind them; all in a gentle tone that breathes comfort into you. then, bringing your hand to his chest. "s'just me, yeah?"

he was, himself, the man you'd known for years; yet wasn't. as of tonight, someone new altogether; not a mere lover, but something more permanent, to have and to hold. a husband, you think. a title that too, would fluctuate and blend into another, as boyfriend did to lifemate; and now did till the end of time.

perhaps the pleasure had not been with the familiarity of one, but in getting to know each version over time. and though you well knew the man before tonight, it had been an honor to get to know this version, too, who comfortably carries your love along his hand.

you return a gentle smile back to him, and there's a new feeling that clouds all prior nerves and drenches them in something entirely different. it isn't quite comfort, nor its opposite that follows. it is, instead, an aching feeling that rests in your chest, your core, the essence of you.

it feels like a welcome and a goodbye, this moment. the end of your lives prior to this point, full of juvenile ventures and blissful ignorance of such, and the welcoming of a new one with him. like a beginning and end, one that would find you both, as husband and wife.

there's no relief to the thud of your heart as he lifts you up from the seated position. nor in the way his six-foot stature gets to his feet to allow the remaining fabric —his pants, your robe— to pool around his feet. his nimble fingers then help tug away at your panties, somehow more miraculously than the way you'd envisioned he would over hundreds of times on this night.

he does so all without so much as dropping your hand, nor his gaze; as if letting go of even the smallest tether to you would undo him completely. his eyes carry such reverence that you nearly wonder if it is both the first and the last time he'll have seen, caressed, and made love to you.

you can't help the way your eyes drift along his figure, either; the warm light from above spilling in soft sections along it. you capture each dip in his abs, the pigmented portions of his tattooed skin in vivacious colors; print along his side, love on his waist, the trail of moles along his arms. it is like the first and last time, you think, as you take in the image towering over you.

you kick away your underwear, and when you are bare before each other, riki is the first to move. you follow him with your eyes as he dips onto the mattress, hands held all the way. a flush dances about his cheeks when you offer a head tilt at the way his back eases onto the same spot, as if posing a question.

"want you on top, pretty." he says, his words just as much a confession as your last had been. as if the earlier position had been more than intentional. "need you there."

one glance at the way a glistening trail along his tip is enough to aid in his words, and send a jolt through your still pulsing clit. you nod in submission, no doubt sure in your heart that he would too, want to remember the night with deep awe. and if what he needed was for you to set the pace and look good doing it; you'd happily oblige.

so as swiftly as you had gotten off, you climb back onto him, settling there. his arms move to encircle your body, pulling you up only slightly this time, so as to let your legs rest properly on the mattress. he kicks away the last of the material while you rest atop his figure, the warmth of your arousal threatening to mesh with his.

before you can do so much as shift about, his eyes catch yours in a look that recount his words from earlier; as if to say: you know me, and i, you. and though he does what he can to bring you comfort, it is your body that moves to break the building tension in one slow, long-awaited shift.

a hiss leaves his throat when you push back, sinking onto his erect cock without so much as a need for guidance. it's like he made for you, the way his body molds against yours as you move. "fuck," he swears, his hands flying to grip your hips as you sink further.

there's a satisfying sting of pain that comes with the stretch as you press further against him, willing your pelvis to meet his. a series of soft whimpers spill as you adjust to his size, the throbbing need at your center pulsing as you take him. the width is glorious; foreign and familiar all at once, as if you'd always been destined to know him.

and god does he feel like home.

he twitches from within your cunt, as if adjusting to the snug fit himself. and for a moment, you two simply lie there, lips parted in bliss between gasps, and soaking in each other's pleasure-riddled bodies, as if to commit it all to memory.

riki's eyes swim with a sea of emotion as he holds you in his gaze, his lips twisting to find the words that will encapture them as he clings to you. but just like before, when you'd tried the same —to come up with even one word to start— the task proves nearly impossible. but it's not even seconds later when he decides to make an attempt in lieu of such, in three words rather than one.

"i love you," he says, the truth so evident in his trembling voice you nearly feel it in your bones. "i love you so much,"

you feel the emotion swell in your throat as you offer the same words back, with a gentle caress of his angular jaw. "i love you, riki."

a moan rips out of him as you grind down, further molding your body to his. "oh, my.....fuck, baby," he grunts, throwing his head back against the mattress. "fuu...uck, c'mere." he tugs at your figure, as if being inside of you hadn't been close enough. "c'mere please,"

there is no thought that follows; only sheer obedience as you bring your chest to his, grinding all the way. you press your forehead to his, short breaths leaving you he holds you in place.

he plants gentle kisses along your face as you rock a low rhythm, uttering words of want and desperate need along your skin. you can only moan in response, fingers snaking their way back to his hair as your pussy swallows his length. "sshhiitt, ki,"

"fuckk hun, i know," he brings one hand around your waist as to offer an embrace, the other finding your ass with a sharp slap. "just like that, baby."

his words ignite a spark in deep heat; one you chase by lifting up your waist to bring it back down along the ridge that connects you. you find a faster, yet deeper rhythm against his base as you ride rather than grind along his cock.

"that's it, that's fuck—" he groans, the accumulated moisture of shared desire backing him as you bounce. "takin' me so good, hun, fuuck,"

he spreads his legs for support, then, as if guided by the light that is your heat, he thrusts up to meet the pace you've set. the way his cock drags along your walls has you seeing stars, and you can't help the way your head falls into his shoulder at how he splits you. "mmghh!" you moan, clutching as his slick skin as if he'll slip away. "riki!"

he clutches you right back, the cool sensation of the promise around his finger resting against your thigh as he thrusts. when the gold momentarily disappears, it meets your skin again with another slap of your bottom that echoes within the suite.

your clench around him at the strike, the tension only aiding in the pleasure his drag brings as he stretches your needy cunt. your eyes squeeze shut as you take him, —every desperate thrust, jagged twitch of his cock that lets you know he's nearing his end; and you can't help but moan his name like a spell into his salt-dressed shoulder.

"mm," he affirms, lowly, choked; as if in a daze. "all yours, f—" he gasps at the clench you offer around him. "fu—fuck, all yours, baby."

his words encourage a deeper movement as you ride. a newfound confidence as you look to nothing more than him -not a ring, a thud in your chest, nor the night- as an anchor for time spent on the satin-dressed bed. you somehow feel lighter at that; while heavy with lust as you grind further down with each press. his name tumbles from your lips in stretched moans as you take his length. "kiiii!"

he tightens his grip as he meets every bounce with an ever-growing desperation; each thrust becomes a deep pounding you aren't sure your pussy can handle. his words even more so, as they spill mindlessly from his tongue.

"my pretty girl," he grunts in response, babbling now, lost and found all at once. "my beautiful wife,"

you feel your core swelling at his words, the persistent slap of his balls against your essence with each press to the hilt. his lips press against every trace of your features, as if he could mark you with them. the old frame of the bed does indeed shake, as riki rocks into your pussy almost ritualistically, the hunger for this moment undeniable.

his lips search for something deeper, finding solace in taking yours in a messy, uninhibited kiss, rather than mere presses against your skin. he moans freely into your mouth as he moves against it, sucking and nibbling and biting along the feature as he drives into you. "my girl," he utters, the words shaky with pleasure and at the awe in their truth. "all mine,"

and before you can stop it or even register its effects, the wave comes crashing down, your orgasm drawing out a long moan as your legs succumb to the weight of delight. "riki, i'm—" you let out something between a choked gasp and cry as you twitch around him. "ki i'm coming!"

your spasms around his cock earn a shudder from him as he continues to fuck you through it. a series of shocks ensues, yours from the burst of euphoria that floods your veins, and his from the sensation the ridges of your slick walls bring. "oh, baby, i'm right—" he starts, eyes rolling back before squeezing shut with a groan. "i'm right fuckin' there,"

he chases his high in a desperate dance, breath hitching as he slams your body down to meet his thrusts. "fuuuucck!" he cries out, reaching nirvana as he spills his heat into you. his fingers claw what will surely be crescents along your hips in his final movements in you, before slowing to something near a still, a series of broken shudders. "mm, fuuuuck, baby," he moans, coming down from it all.

upon the warmth that spreads inside your cunt, you feel yourself clenching at the essence with gentle whimpers, as if to cling to any part of him should he pull away.

only he doesn't; not right away at least. in fact, in a flash, his hands leave your hips rather quickly, to wrap around you in a warm embrace.

the jagged breaths he offers do nothing to hide the familiarity of his racing heart as you press against his skin. the tempo brings about a comfort so surreal that you feel a smile creep into your features as you both resign from the bliss.

he lifts his fingers to your scalp, raking the digits through the strands as he drifts from cloud nine. there's a soft silence momentarily before he looks down at you, biting back a soft smile under the dim light. then, in a tone tinged with a gentle pride. "first night as a wife," he cooes, pressing his lips to your head. "rather okay?"

you chuckle in his arms at the question; at the notion of you worrying about it in the first place. "perfect," you correct dreamily, eyes tracing his flushed features. then, almost playfully, "is pizza still on the table?"

he raises a brow briefly, then eyes the dim light of the suite, as if truly in thought before responding. "it is, but," he utters, the suggestion in his voice overtaking that of mischief. "maybe i......still had an appetite for something else."

the innuendo is enough to ignite another flame within you, skin tingling at the way his promised finger traces circles from scalp to neck, dipping to the curve of your back. only this one, as you bite back another smile is nearly free of nerves, stirring nothing more than the want of what is yours; the man with dampened hair and dark eyes for only you, here and for years to come.

and if it somehow resting in the bliss after falling apart near the edge of the bed hadn't been memorable enough, you'd have all night to make it so. all week, amidst the honeymoon. and always, as forever finds its place between you both. as his girl, his wife, and each passing title time had to bring; his, and his alone.

it started with his paintings, of course. you'd look over during class only to be met with a canvas brilliantly decorated with deep and vibrant hues, bursts of color depending on the day. sometimes you'd see a sunset, with the soft shades of burnt oranges in a stark contrast against cloudy blues. other times you'd see a moonlit sky, with acrylics that made the stars shine so brightly you'd sworn they'd been plucked from the night. campfires, adorned with embers and surrounded by lush trees, detailed depictions of swans, beautiful, beautiful work that you never seemed to have the talent to achieve.

you swore it was just envy. plain and simple. you wanted to be like him, nothing else. that the only reason your eyes kept wandering over to his side of the classroom, had simply been for bits and pieces of inspiration.

but then you noticed it. not just his painting; him. the way he'd spend moments in between his strokes, looking at his art with such an intensity you'd wonder if the painting itself would break into a sweat. you'd watch as he created images with pursed lips and pinched brows. the way he'd bite his lower lip as he made intricate 'corrections' to such minuscule mistakes along his board. but above all, you would notice the level of reverence he'd seem to have for his creations, from start to end. how he never seemed to eye a blank canvas as a sign of failure, but a chance for a new story to tell. how he seemed to care for every aspect, shade, and 'accident' he'd make along the way.

you could learn from him in that regard. maybe even learn a couple more things from the class overall if you stopped staring at him so much, too.

from the stool upon which he sits, your eyes inevitably float back to your very own canvas, shining the same shade of snow it did as when you first began, without so much as a stroke. it's evident you won't be getting much done today, and the time on your wristwatch, confirming the soon approaching end of your class, aids in the thought. you began to pack your items up amidst the sea of chatter from other students, hoping to slip out earlier than the formal end of the lesson.

but it's as if your professor senses the end too, calling everyone to attention in a voice that almost instantly quiets the noise. her pale legs reveal themselves as she hobbles from around the desk, mentioning how quickly the time seemed to have passed without her noticing. you wondered what that was like, too, being able to get so deep and into art; instruction, or the doing, that you lost track of time. the class itself never claimed your attention that drastically, though riki had been a close second.

"class, before you all are dismissed-" professor jona begins, grabbing the thin-framed glasses from her desk and slipping them past her nose. "i'd like someone to share their piece, and the story behind it."

her green eyes search the room for a victim, and you don't bother stopping the packing up of your items. she'll pick riki; she always does. can't say you blame her, really. not when he's clearly one of the most skilled ones in the class. his painting always told a story, the same way his eyes, hands, and teeth-bitten lips did as he created them.

but it's your name instead, you hear ring out from the front of the classroom, freezing you in motion as heads from around the room turn toward the back.

"(y/n)!" professor jona speaks again, as if the state of shock you remained in, backpack suspended in mid-air, wasn't enough to indicate that you'd heard her the first time. "would you like to turn your easel around, tell us about your work today?"

no. not really, you think. especially considering the blank state it's remained in for the past hour, the only story you'd be able to tell is how you'd simply propped the canvas onto the wooden frame, not much else. unless they really want to hear about how you spent the entire class looking at riki's fingers rock back and forth along his own art.

"i um...." you began, throwing the bag over your shoulder with a low huff. maybe if you act as if you're still about to leave early, she'll ultimately end up choosing someone else. "i'd rather not, really."

"oh don't be so bashful!" professor jona persists, her wrinkled hands gesturing to your canvas again, with the pursuit of several eyes following the direction. "we'd all love to see what you have; you don't have to go too into depth."

if there was any depth at all, you would gladly have shared. but just like the stares from your peers and professor alike, the canvas was simply blank.

you wondered if this was your fault. the only reason why you'd gotten by in this class had been coasting on last-minute assignments, turning in poorly depicted attempts at abstract art, void of any true feeling or real emotion. simple lines and splashes of color thrown together in a manner that screamed you were acting out of time constraint, no real passion. your realistic art had always been an inadequate imitation of the theme you'd gone for, never truly able to capture the true 'essence' or feelings the others seemed to channel. something too tethered, controlled with little to no artistic tone or voice. nothing ever effortless, true, or deep. nothing like riki's.

maybe this was inevitable. only a matter of time before she'd stop picking him. after all, you were nearly halfway through the semester, and there had of course been plenty of students with their own, deep, abrasive, and abstract stories to tell. you just wish she hadn't started with you.

but as you held your backpack close to your side; you'd realize that she had no intention of giving up. so in a quick attempt to get the humiliation ritual over with, you picked up your easel and gave it a turn.

silence at first, then the soft attempts to stifle snickers, low mutterings from amongst the class that made you want to burrow into the ground beneath you and hide.

the red curls hanging along the side of your professor's head shook as she gave you a nod: as if both validating and trying to understand the vision herself. "oh, well that's just....."

"missing something." you hear a classmate murmur from beside the professor. upon a glance to your right, you see it's jake whose lips the words leave, followed by hushed chuckles among his surrounding group.

you resist the urge to roll your eyes, quickly flipping the stand back around in part annoyance, part embarrassment. it was bad enough that you seemed to have this massive block regarding creation on your own. but putting it on display, for everyone to see and judge, hadn't made it any easier.

there's a warmth that floods your cheeks upon the remembrance that riki is likely one of those doing the same. he didn't seem like the type to chuckle to himself or make jokes about your disposition, though the thought hadn't calmed you at all. ultimately it had been the principle; the guy you'd spent all the time watching in class had now probably been eyeing you back with an opinion of his own amongst many. artsy, effortless riki. you didn't even want to peer in his general direction to find out.

instead, you let out a quiet huff. "sorry, profesor jo, i just-" you pause, eyes flickering up to meet hers; and only hers for the sake of your dignity. "haven't been able to find much inspiration."

her head bobs faster now, serving as what she surely intends to be an empathic response, despite her already calling you out in front of the entire class. "and that's okay!" she says, a wrinkled smile forming upon her features. "we've all been there," she remarks, tilting her head down to meet eyes with you from above her frames.

she turns her attention back to the overall class, using your sorry canvas as an example of how not to deal with creative block. she mentions the importance of looking into the world around for inspiration and ideas for creation, taking moments of quiet to truly observe before painting.

what she doesn't understand, is that you've tried this before. spent more time than you can recall staring at your own works of art, quietly waiting and hoping to create something that felt real, true to you. any organic idea that you could transfer onto the canvas just as effortlessly as so many others seemed to do. that the whole 'just start painting' thing hadn't worked for you, often ending in a horrid mess of color, devoid of any true explanation or story. all she saw, ultimately, was your apparent lack of effort at all.

"....and i'd like to mention that there are so many wonderful artists in this class!" she drones on, aiding further in your embarrassment. "connecting with other artists helps, especially-" her eyes return to you as she says this.

"take riki for example!"

of course, you think, watching as she gestures over to his stool just next to the left side of her desk. "riki, you'd help out a classmate if asked, right?"

a groan that you manage to suppress, claws at your throat, the heat in your cheeks grows hotter with each second when you see it. riki, from the corner of your eye, giving a slight nod in return to the instructor who thought it wise to air you out.

he can hardly get his verbal response out before she interrupts him, noting once again how class is coming to a close. funny, she'd have more time for instruction had she cut the tangent about leaning on each other altogether. "well isn't that just splendid!" she drawls, turning back to you with a knowing smile. "i suggest you two get together right away!"

you wanted to melt into the floor.

"with all that being said," she clasps her hands together. "i'd still love to hear about someone's piece.....riki, if you will?"

unbelievable. there's just actually no way.

but when the streaked hair giant turns his canvas toward the majority of the class, you close your eyes in acceptance. listen to his annoyingly charming voice as he tells the story of his piece. it's a simple one, so far at least. incomplete, but still containing all the depth yours lacked. he says he'd just playing around with colors for a while, but when your eyes finally peel open to see it, you're amazed how structured it actually looks. how familiar the gently drawn out lines of the picture seem to look. you think it may be a shelf he's working on. whatever story may come of it, you'd inevitably hear about it when he got called on again.

the rest of the class has followed your lead, stuffing items into their respective bags as you pop up from your stool. your professor gives praise to riki (of course) and the last bit of instruction before you finally turn toward the door. you're finally about to leave when you hear it.

hurried footsteps making their way behind you, your name on his lips as he approaches.

you whip around faster than lightning. because there's no way he's actually trying to talk to you.

but when you look back, all six foot two of nishimura riki stands, looking back at you with an expression of gentle curiosity in his features.

he's handsome up close. with long lashes that flutter rapidly as a small smile forms upon his features; he extends his hand in an effort to grasp yours. "(y/n), yeah?" he grips the same hand you hadn't even realized had been drifting upward. "are you busy this weekend?"

you nearly let out a bitter laugh, realizing exactly what this is about. "i'm not, but," a swish of air sounds as you let your hand fall from his gentle grip. "you don't actually have to help me with painting, despite what professor jo says."

although as you eye him carefully, you can't say it wouldn't be nice. you imagine making time to spend with him outside of the classroom. the deep voice of his booming from behind you as he shows you how to make your way around a canvas, stroke by stroke.....

but alas, you know he's got more than enough on his plate. being the arts (to include dancing, singing, and rapping in other curricular areas), prodigy, and all. it was considerate that he'd said what he did upon being called on by professor jo, but truth be told, what else could he have said? can't help her these days, professor jo; i'm busy carrying the world? the comments he'd given were to be nothing more than a courtesy, not an obligation. "besides, i'm sure i'll find my inspo at some point."

"actually," he says, his smile seemingly growing softer in what you presume to be an element of quiet admiration. shyness perhaps? "it'd help me too, if anything." he says.

"i was hoping i could paint you, if you'd let me."

oh. you think. he wants to paint you?

your hand has seemingly drifted up again, because he lets out a low chuckle as your pointer finger finds your chest in confusion. "m-me?"

another low laugh leaves his lips, this time with a nod in confirmation. "yeah, you." he says, his dark orbs glistening with delight under the harsh blue light from overhead. "we'd be helping each other out, really."

then, his voice drops a tone as he tucks his hands into his side pockets. "you inspire me," he says, his eyes shifting gently along your face in a way that feels sincere. you almost miss the way your heart stutters at his words due to pure shock.

because....how did you inspire him? by staring at the back of his head every class? you aren't sure what kind of inspo he usually derives his creations from, but it's quite a shock to say that you've made the list. especially considering that glorious works of art he's decorated his pieces with. maybe he means your essence, truly. the way you'd sit quietly in the back of class, unassuming and clearly out of place.

maybe he needs help depicting a trainwreck.

brushing the thought off, you roll your shoulders, shifting your weight for a brief moment before responding. "oh, well," you clear your throat as the palms that clutch your canvas begin to moisten. "alright, then."

when you offer a smile of your own, he quickly pulls his phone from his back pocket, handing it over to you in a swift movement. you hope he doesn't notice the way your fingers tremble upon typing in your digits before handing the device back over to him in a matter of seconds.

he doesn't seem to, because upon receipt of your contact info, he offers nothing more than a bitten back smile before he sends you a message, confirmation that he's got the right number. "great," he says "how does....." his eyes roll upward as he ponders the thought. "saturday at noon sound?"

"perfect," you say, not giving yourself the chance to overthink the next words. "sounds good to me."

"saturday, then." he reiterates, pulling his hands from his pockets to retrieve his canvas as he makes his way to and out of the door. just before he crosses the threshold, it's as if he remembers to say something. because he pauses, turning back toward you with a slight amusement in his features. "it may not be much help and.....you've probably heard it before, but,"

he gestures to your blank board lazily, biting back another soft smile that threatens to reveal itself at any moment. "just.....try to paint what you feel."

and in a flash, he's gone. leaving you in a manner that far more in need of air than before.

when you finally do return home, it's as if the inspiration that you'd been waiting to hit you for weeks strikes you with a bat. the only thought on your mind is him, and when your fingers finally touch the canvas to adorn it with washed-out watercolors, the image forms underneath the low light of your apartment living room.

you picture his smile from earlier, the shy one before he asked to paint you and tucked his hands away. the stubborn part of your brain recalls the way the ends of his lips seemed to twitch as they formed the words. the recollection makes you feel excited, and a flash of bright orange appears in a flash, straight and long, across the canvas.

sprinkles and specs of purple appear next as you recall his voice, your heart refusing to let go of the way it stuttered when he'd called your name out at the end of class in a manner that made you feel thrilled. they line the edges of the once white board as your fingers move frantically, should they forget even for a split second what he sounds like.

red is next. it's the brightest one that glides effortlessly along the board as you imagine his plump lips, how he'd bitten them up as he spoke to you the same way he'd do so when creating a work of art of his own. you want to project yourself into the image itself, as if to surround yourself with the very color you'd associated with his lips. you wanted to be swarmed in it; and the feeling of warmth you'd imagine they'd give. you picture the lovely pair making their way up your chest, down your back, along your shoulders, before switching to blue.

even if his eyes were brown, it's the one color you feel captures the essence of them. the strength and unwavering gaze they'd seem to trap you in earlier, the same way they'd do with his own art. the color is light as you make broad strokes with your thumb, index, and pinky fingers. because in that sense, his eyes can be that way as well. gentle, soft, in a glint amidst them, like when he'd told you to paint what you felt, before he'd left you in the classroom for the day.

and so you did exactly that; looking at the abstract work now, with its bright blend and fusion of colors, is something you'd never thought you'd be able to do. the work that sits before you now is a highlight of this afternoon, every feeling you'd felt toward him encapsulated in those mere moments before you'd gone your separate ways. bright, intentional, beautiful, and anything but void of emotion.

--

saturday comes sooner than expected.

he offers you a water when you take a seat on the cushioned chair he has set out for you, to which you politely decline. it's sweet of him, truly, but being without a bottle leaves you less opportunity to fiddle with anything. "this is....a nice place."

and it is. the living room of his apartment was spacious, the walls lined with small portraits; some drawn, painted, or taken with a camera. the only spot that wasn't practically littered with images or depictions of art was the wall you sat in front of. instead, it had been lined with shelves of books, serving as the backpiece for the picture he'd soon create.

he offers a small smile as he pulls a stool in front of his easel. "thanks," he says, before setting up an array of various paints in front of his canvas. "make yourself comfortable, please."

you'd worn a dress for the occasion: flowy and floral. light and loose enough to feel comfortable. but it wasn't every day that you'd be offered the chance to be painted by an artist, specifically not from one as talented and handsome as he was. so despite his words, you found yourself shifting within the seat, trying to catch the low hum of bossa nova that played lowly in the background.

he looked comfortable, though. in his black top and grey sweats, you watch as he assembled his items with the same ease and carefree nature he'd always carried with regard to art. the sunlight that peered through the curtains captures the blonde streak of his hair and the delicate features in a manner that makes your chest stir. you wonder if he's ever created a self-portrait: ever tried bringing his own beauty to life on a canvas.

but you don't ask. because you're only slightly more curious about why it's you specifically who sits in the chair amid the backdrop of books. as he settles into a comfortable position on the stool, the words finally leave your lips. "so.....i have to ask," you start, tilting your head in inquiry. "why paint me?"

he pauses his set-up for a second, looking up at you with the same glimmer of amusement behind his eyes as that day in the classroom, as if the answer had been quite obvious. "i think you're pretty."

the words leave his lips so matter-of-factly, you almost feel foolish for asking. a new color that you hope won't last long enough to be captured in the portrait floods your cheeks as you blink in shock. "t-thank you,"

you aren't sure what else to say, really. you didn't think he ever noticed you, not really. from where you sit in the classroom, it was a semi-surprise to you that he had even known your name.

he simply murmurs a hum in acknowledgment, turning his attention back to the partially done canvas. "and a bit frustrating." he says with a sly smile.

that earns another tilt from you. the tone is light, playful, but the truth in his words still clear. "frustrating? how?"

he dips the thick-rimmed brush into the water that sits in the center of his palette, the same way you've watched him do countless times. "i've done countless portraits before; so many sketches," he says, bringing the bristles toward the browns for the background. "beautiful works, people would try to buy them off of me, y'know?"

"but this," he taps the bridge of his nose with the end of the brush, brings it to the space underneath his eyes, then his lips. "you," he says, dark eyes shadowed by even darker hair fall upon you. "i can never seem to get you right."

your heart hiccupped as the words left his lips. he's tried before to capture you, or your essence, by the way he's phrased it. he speaks of you as if you're the art itself, that he's only done his best to replicate it. you almost ask him again; why you? but the answer has been made clear. especially with how he looks now, as he moves his fingers along the whites of his page, etching it with color.

so you ask something else. "i....inspire you that much?"

he doesn't even pause again, nodding ever so slowly as his slim fingers clutch and control the brush. "of course," he says, with a smile "everything does." he continues; and the way the light captures his adam's apple as it bobs isn't lost on you. "the ducks by the pond on campus, the fog in the early mornings before classes,"

"the cherry blossoms by the park," the way his expression shifts as he eyes his painting lets you know something is coming together. "pretty girls that sit in the library," he says, with a gentle wink. "it's hard not to be inspired."

you'd let out a snort if the last remark didn't make you flustered. undoubtedly, there was beauty everywhere, especially the sakura trees and the formation of ducks by the pond. but to be so inspired by it to try to bring it to life was a completely different thing. and to be so inspired; to see it in you, had been something you hadn't even fathomed.

the piece, you begin to realize, is in fact a continuation. this was most certainly the one from class, with shelves arranged to form the image. it was only upon hearing his words that you understood they'd been proper bookshelves, like the ones you'd sit under in between courses. the same thing he'd tried to replicate somewhat in the living room of the apartment.

you suppose this really had been helpful for him. maybe in a matter of moments, he would be able to capture you the same way he does a bright sunset, or a vivid horizon upon a beach. "well," you say, eyes falling onto the way his hands drift. "glad i could help."

the room grows with a soft quiet as riki works. he watches you intently from across his stool before turning back to his piece to drag his hand across it. his brows furrow in that same familiar way they would in class, and he wears the unmistakable expression of concentration when creating something beautiful, something real. it's funny, being on this side of it. you'd never thought you'd be the focus of it when it came to his works.

but here you are, sitting as he moves with pinched brows and quiet precision. it's only the sound of bristles meeting cloth, accompanied by quiet jazz that fills the room, your lips hesitant to even so much as quiver. it's only when he lets out a sigh of frustration that they finally twitch.

"is...everything okay?"

he nods slowly, dark hair bouncing with the subtle shake. "yeah, i'm just..." he huffs, moistening the bristles. "a bit scared is all."

never in a million years did you think you'd hear those words leave his lips. riki, the class prodigy, who'd generated creations worthy of praise and even more....was scared? he, who the professor had looked to as an example to project, promote, and constantly acknowledge. the artist whose minimal 'mistakes' only aided in his works coming alive?

"scared?" you ask now, squinting. "for the....features, right?"

he nods lowly, biting at his lower lip. "i just don't want to mess it up, y'know?" he mutters, as a battle wages behind his eyes. "i don't want to ruin it."

funny, how all the times you'd spent looking at him in the classroom, this is the first time you truly see him. sitting now before you, in a pair of gray sweats and wearing an expression of worry, is when you finally feel as if you recognize him; the real him.

your classmate and peer, the boy who shows to the world the fruits of his labor, the beauty in his works, but deep down deals with the same challenges and worries as you. the boy who feels and experiences the same points of block when creating. the boy who feels stuck in his own work because of: you.

only the pressure for him was ten times worse. often looked at as the example, golden boy of the field, you realized he didn't get to have these rare moments of block, let alone show up and leave his class with a blank canvas the way you did.

maybe, you begin to wonder that you are both more alike than you realize.

he smiles a soft one before shifting back to work, but you've already seen it. the flicker of vulnerability in his features. the gentle frustration behind his eyes at himself for being unable to bring his vision to life. a feeling you know all too well.

before you realize it, you clear your throat. "i tried what you told me the other day," you say, returning the soft smile as you speak. "about just painting what i felt."

when his dark eyes meet yours, you hope the words provide him any kind of consolation, any help as you continue. "my piece was a little more abstract, but.....it worked."

it's true. his advice on a random afternoon had done more than a dozen art lessons, videos, and lectures from professor jona. you'd only hope that even if he hadn't been able to capture what he'd been going for, at the very least, the image could make him feel something other than frustration.

of course, it had helped that you had a very handsome, tall, and downright gorgeous muse in mind as you created it, but maybe: he needed a reminder of his own words to do exactly that. especially if in his eyes; you were as pretty as he said you were.

riki nods, his hands moving slower as he works, as his attention shifts to the words that leave your lips. "that's good," a genuine tone echoes through the room. "what'd you paint?"

"it was....a bit of everything," you say, thinking of the flurry of colors you'd produced mere nights ago in your living room. "but it's better than anything I've done in....a while."

you shock yourself with your own honesty. perhaps it's something in the air; the warm silence in which you two safeguarded within the four walls you sit in, up until this point. there's an ease the energy of the room has shifted into, the jazz being an excellent choice to aid in it.

in a moment's notice, he stops working completely to offer another sweet grin. though it's not unlike the smiles he's given you before, this one is most certainly softer; more authentic. "that's really awesome, actually," he says, a soft glimmer in his eye. "hoping i can do the same, hm?"

before he can even do so much as shift back into his perpetual 'flow-state' you quickly tell him that he can. "i took the advice you gave me a bit literally, but," you start. "whose to say you can't do the same?"

this question seems to intrigue him, because he places both the brush and palette down nearby, before raising a brow. "what do you mean?"

so you tell him. explain that even though the piece you worked had been shapeless, lifeless, it held thousands of words and feelings beyond it. that expression, in that moment, relied more on color, the feeling itself it'd drawn from you. not a series of shapes and angles aligned in a manner that could change at any moment.

"it's like this," you say, practically itching in your seat to tell him about it. "think about what you're feeling and... choose a color that best represents it."

he squints in thought, and you can practically see the art critic in him willing itself out of his body. "that does seem to better fit abstract art, though."

a scoff nearly leaves your lips upon hearing his words. it's as if another switch flips in your body because in that moment, you finally understand the persistent debates and arguments held within class. the snarky remarks jake and other classmates would make amongst each other from and across their sides of the classroom. the rebuttals against those who taught and thought of art as a clinical process, a study; something to be perfected and achieved.

those who thought of the field with deep intricacies and nuances as a craft to be improved upon. the very same people whose views contain such constraint that seep into your subconscious, blocking out any imperfect thought or paralyzing you as you stand before your own page. one to be graded, critiqued, and misunderstood by anyone who didn't quite 'get it' or feel what you felt.

and to be quite frank, it'd be a shock to see if he were one of those people. so you challenge the very thought.

"whose to say it does?" you ask, a newfound confidence rising within your voice and body as you squint back at him. "it may end up capturing more than you think."

and there it is. the flicker of worry, concern, and unease that brings his eyebrows together and purses his lips. the expression seems to rip the words out of you before you can register them.

"you won't mess it up, riki."

there's a sensitivity in your voice that manages to simultaneously ease him and you as it floods the room. professor jo would be in shambles upon seeing this. the class wreck, trying to ease the expert into something new? unfathomable.

but your professor hadn't been there. in the living room sat only two art students, sharing quiet thoughts and confessions in the shadows of their own vulnerabilities across the thin veil of paint and cloth. no prodigies nor washouts; only you and riki, and the gentle hum of jazz the record player provides.

the pause he takes is relieved momentarily, and his eyes dance along the features of yours he'd so longingly tried to imitate. they flicker back to the painting, then to you, as he purses his bottom lip as if to say why not?

"show me." he then says, though if there weren't so much humility in his voice, you'd think it a command; one you easily oblige to upon hearing it.

accompanying this feeling, is a quiet ache in your chest upon hearing his words that sticks with you. a subtle feeling of regret that sits in your core upon the realization of the truth; that no matter how it seemed, he'd only ever been just like you. intrigued, thoughtful, and curious about the true meaning and value of art. maybe you'd have realized it sooner if you'd spent time with him, rather than merely looking at him from the back of the class. or even at times judging how 'perfect' his presentation had always seemed.

a pang sits in your chest for all lost time, but the curiosity in his tone makes you want to make up for it. in a flash, you're on your feet, crossing the room to stand in front of him. he only watches with intrigued brown eyes as you pop the canvas from the easel, and set it on the floor. "join me?"

he nods quickly, picking up the paints and setting them next to the piece on the floor as you take a seat next to the work. to the record player he goes, to turn up the bossa nova before he returns to sit next to you on the floor. you're grateful, truly: you were beginning to wonder if he'd hear your stuttering heart over the low tone of music.

he sits along the carpet, shifting the paints along the hardwood portion of the floor to prevent any major messes. "so....a color for a feeling?"

"exactly," you respond, watching as he mixes a deep blue with a gentle red, before dropping the tool. "exactly like that."

"so like....red for anger? green for envy?"

"not quite," you say, wracking your brain for the words. "it's more so what something makes you feel."

the images from that night flash in your mind; the recollection you'd had of his smile, voice, and their coinciding colors. a hue of greens, purples, and oranges across the canvas as the emotion had been pulled out of you. "for instance....." you look at the partially done image and faceless depiction of you that lies before you both. "libraries make you feel....."

"warm." he says lowly, an ease in his voice that stirs a new feeling of it's own in your chest. "cozy."

you're just about to ask what color he associates with the feeling, but he's already reaching for the brush again to dip into a slightly dried brown on his palette. instinctively, your hand grips his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. you pull away almost instantly, as if you've burned yourself upon the realization of what you've done.

"sorry," you say quickly, gesturing back to the palette. "i just....i also only paint with my fingers."

a tip he didn't necessarily need to take, but one you'd felt important to mention. he'd been using watercolor this whole time, so you'd felt safe to mention it. had it been acrylic or oil, you'd have been hesitant. though the ease with which you'd be able to work with the material, to you, at least, had made you feel more connected to the creations in a way.

but he does take it, wetting his fingers in the muddled water before connecting them with the brown, drawing lines along the canvas. then, suddenly, "what was your inspo when you did it?" he asks, looking up at you as his fingers dot the blank portions. "any muses of your own?"

you almost don't register the question, looking at the way his pale fingers run themselves along the whites of the board. in a flash, though, it hits you, earning a low, ironic chuckle that flies from your lips.

under different circumstances, you'd have dodged the answer completely; insisted on giving a vague answer or simply telling him "a guy". but in the spirit of revelations about each other and the unguarded ease with which you two had slipped into moments ago, it felt right to tell him. after all, he'd been the one who'd opened that door. insisted on calling you 'pretty' and apparently, the inspiration for his own works.

so, looking up from the piece his hands shuffled across; you attempted to use the same matter-of-fact tone as he did earlier when answering your question. "i thought of....." you give the same genuine smile as he did. "you, riki."

you aren't sure what to expect when the words leave your lips. a flood of color tints his cheeks as he looks back at you, and he bites back a surprised smile. "oh," he says, amusement skirting his tone. "guess i should have known, hm? you are always staring at me in class."

the record player may as well have scratched, because in that moment, you feel your heart plummet.

this entire time, he had noticed.

"i-" for a brief moment, you wondered if this had been what it was like for your brain to actually short-circuit. "i-"

he lets out a soft, throaty chuckle at your perturbation before gripping your wrist in his hand. "relax, pretty," he says, gesturing to the work with stained fingers. "clearly i noticed you, too."

his eyes capture yours under the cast-in light the windows provide. they hold you with a reverence for a brief moment, and upon feeling your once-tense hand loosen a bit, he doesn't let go. not even when he turns back to work the page.

with one hand lining the canvas and the other holding yours, he dots the lines of the depiction of your hair with a mellow yellow. after a moment of watching him sprinkle the color along the edges, you ask what it means.

he looks up at you, before a look of awe unfolds upon his features. "hopeful." he says, running the color along the lines of the portrait.

he spreads the color amongst many along the features of the canvas, slowly making his way toward the portions he'd once been hesitant about. you're tempted to ask what each of them means, but let him move in silence for some time, leaning into the way he clutches your hand.

then, by surprise, you feel a cool sensation against the back of it as he reaches to press the same color of yellow along the smooth skin, streaking the tone in a stark contrast. your heart practically trips over itself upon the contact, and you glance up at him to clarify. "hopeful?"

he nods, and doesn't stop there. before you can ask why, he dips his index finger in a shade of orange before dragging it along your arm, avoiding your floral dress as he does. he mutters something quietly, personal, in a tone so intimate you could melt. the jazz nearly drowns it out, but you think he says the word; "happy."

the sensation of his fingers running along your arm is enough to make you twitch; something you're almost positive he catches as he works the paint along your skin.

but you don't pull away, try to stop him as he continues. you only turn toward him, allowing him to work the paint up toward your collarbone, earning a low gasp from you as he shifts and adjusts his palette.

"shy," he chuckles, gliding his fingers along the curve of your neck. his eyes glimmer with the exact emotion he claims to experience upon exposure to the specific feature, as shown in how his fingers start to tremble upon nearing your face.

it's a feat of your own, trying not to twitch or shudder as his fingers dance along the corners and curves of your body, as if marking you like a portrait itself.

as he dons you in colors, you'd wonder how long he'd been connected to the feeling of them. how often had he grown shy upon seeing you in halter-tops on the way to and during class? how happy had it made him when you'd rolled up your sleeves to reach a book on the top shelf of a section in a library? did it always give him hope to see the ways in which you'd styled your hair on a specific day?

as the questions float in your mind, it seems as if he has one of his own. because after a moment, he pauses, then glides a swatch of blue along your chin as he lifts it up, as if you ask if the very movement is alright. as if to make sure no lines had been crossed.

it's only when you nod that he continues, muttering a soft "nervous." he wipes the blue along your cheek with his thumb, as he cups it before leaning in. "really nervous."

the words rip a gentle gasp from your throat, and you feel your breathing grow shaky as the gap between both of you begins to shrink. the feeling had been more than mutual, and by the way your hands fumble as they reach for the fabric of his clothes, it had been for some time.

finally, without taking his eyes off of you for even so much as a second, his nimble fingers manage to find the color red, but not before dipping into the water, and gliding the vibrant shade just beneath your lip, along the edges of your mouth. "desire," the words comes out closer to a groan as they tumble from his lips. "want."

you're leaning into his touch, eyes darting along his features, which solely concentrate on you. in that moment, it's as if you completely understand what it must feel like to be the subject of his art. he eyes you in the way he would a canvas, his dark brows drawn together and his plump lips pouting in veneration.

only, as his eyes circle yours, there's something softer behind the brown orbs, a gentleness in the way they glide along the colors of your cheek; and a new question. one that he chooses to now verbalize as he gazes into your eyes underneath the sunlight. "(y/n)," he breathes, blinking softly, as if he could etch the image of you behind his lids. "would you do me the honor of letting me paint you?"

and when you give a shaky nod, accompanied by a soft 'yes', he snaps into action.

the gap is closed with a gentle tug of your face towards his. the lips you'd long thought about feel softer than you could have ever imagined as they move against your own. there's a burst of your own red that seems to flood your chest, want spilling from you like a fountain as you nearly stumble over the painting in an attempt to lessen any further space.

he seems to understand this, because the strength you hadn't realized he had reveals itself as he pulls you into his lap. the flap of your dress rises slightly as he does, and his reaction isn't lost upon you as he steadies your thighs, shuddering lowly.

there's a reverence to his movements, a quiet restraint as he holds you as if you are something fragile, something delicate. his paint-stained fingers make their way up your exposed thigh, each finger tinting your skin a new shade. he stops upon reaching the waistband of your lace panties, before pulling his lips away to inspect your features.

you should feel silly when he does, the gentle features of your own colored in with washed shades of red, blue, and orange alike. admittedly, there's a low chuckle that he can't suppress as he eyes you, which welcomes a warm smile in return as you bring your hand up to wipe his own smudged cheek. but beneath it all is the clear and undeniable expression of sheer want.

so he presses forward, adjusting your body in his lap so that your back is against his chest. you lean into his warm embrace, tilting your head back to look at the delicate, unwavering features of his again.

you think he's going to take your lips between his again, when his arm reaches across the painting you both sit before, and he grabs the paintbrush. "riki..." you mutter, eyes following his fingers as they make their way back to you. "what-"

he silences your concern with a kiss, only breaking apart to whisper the gentle words that send tingles along your skin. "wanna try something first."

and then you feel it.

the drag of the thick-rimmed wooden brush along your skin, along the dips and line of your collarbone. a gasp leaves your lips as he continues moving it down the line between your breasts, the soft fabric of your dress sliding with it.

his other hand pops the clips of your bra mere seconds upon the dress making it's way down, the restraint in his actions growing thin. "riki..." you say again, although it's fathomed more out of a plea than simple concern.

a plea that he moves quickly to fulfill as your satin bra slides off your shoulders. "hm, pretty?" he says, bringing the end of the brush to your now exposed breasts, rubbing small circles along your nipples. then, lower, "feel good?"

you will the words to leave your throat, but they seem to be suspended there with each flick of the hardened material against the peaks of your chest. all you manage to get out is a low whimper as your back arched away from his chest to chase the contact of the brush.

but that doesn't seem to be enough. his lips find new spots along your neck to kiss and bite along as he lets out a low hum. "need to hear you say it, hun."

an unruly shiver emits itself from you as you feel his lips press themselves along your erogenous zones, marking them in a manner that will most certainly leave colors that can't so easily be washed away. the sensation of his bites paired with the lazy glide of the brush just past your areola almost proves too much to handle.

he seems to feel it too, his breathing growing heavy as he watches your lashes flutter every so often from the contact. his sweats don't help much, either; they easily give way to the shape of his hardening cock as it presses into your back while kissing you.

but it's only when you let out a weak. "yes, riki," between ragged breaths that he finally acts.

his nimble fingers move to spread your thighs apart, hiking up your dress as his other hand with the brush moves downward. the handle drifts along your chest, past your waist, then to your slick panties. shockwaves are sent through your body as he glides the wood across your clothed clit, bringing it up and down in an agonizingly slow pace.

your hips buck at the sensation, willing him to apply more pressure along your pussy with the brush, a low moan threatening to erupt from your throat as you grind.

"easy, baby." riki purrs, applying just enough contact to drive you insane if prolonged. "wanna take this slow."

but you don't. not with how much time you'd felt had been spent with inaction, watching and waiting from opposite sides of the classroom, but ultimately wanting the same thing. each other.

so you wrap your fingers around the base of the brush, keeping his touch there in alignment with yours in an attempt to bring it closer. "rik, please,"

his restraint seems to fray at your given nickname, and his grip on the handle eases at your touch. he pauses from neck kisses against your shoulder to peer over it instead, watching as you push the end of the brush closer towards your clit. he cracks only slightly as he watches you buck into the thick handle.

"fuucck," he hisses, adjusting his hand on the handle so that it clutches yours along the wood. "okay, baby....just....lemme guide you, hm?"

you nod fervently, loosening your own grip in submission as he changes the tempo and pace with the brush, flicking the tool from side to side in a way that makes your core ache. before you can stop them, whimpers are tumbling from your lips, soft, high-pitched squeals that grow with each movement along your panties. he lets you tilt the brush at a devastating angle to shallow along your lips now, your underwear sticking to the wet folds as you both move.

"shiitt, riki," you finally moan, your handle on the brush growing weak as you succumb to the pleasure that lights up every nerve in your body. "so....fucking good."

riki nods into your shoulder, the pounding of his heart thudding from behind your back as he grunts lowly. "i know, baby," his free hand drifts up to caress your exposed breasts, adorning them with specs of color; reds of course, deep hues and expressions of devastating want. "keep rubbing that pretty pussy for me, wanna see you do it in circles."

there's something about the low tone in which he speaks that makes you wish to obey. so in mere seconds, you switch to the circular motion he's told you to, mouth agape from the sheer pleasure it brings.

"oh," you moan at the contact, feeling his hand tighten around yours in an attempt to maintain the pressure. "oh my fucking god, riki,"

you won't last long. not with the way he picks up the tempo as your hands go slack with delight. the sounds of moisture sliding against the tool and material of the fabric rival with the heavy breaths between moans you let out. "i'm gonna fucking....mmgh.."

the dizzying spell of his hands against your chest leaves you breathless, and the struggle to find words pursues as he presses down harder, drawing out longer, deeper circles. "mm gonna what, pretty?"

the sudden jerk and twist of your body is the answer as you let out a drawn-out moan, clawing at his clothes for any semblance of grounding. your orgasm shoots through you, a sharp jolt that spreads from your pulsing clit along the nerves and veins of your empty walls, past your shaking thighs. the sensation is enough to make your skin along every exposed part of your body tingle as you squeak the words out. "mm....fuckin' coming,"

the sound that erupts from riki upon your undoing is nothing short of feral. he groans as he watches you twist in pleasure, only slowing down the pace of the brush when you push against his hand, whimpering as you ride out the sensation. "my fucking god, baby," he grunts into your ear. "you're so damn beautiful."

your hand is still clutching his clothes when he drops the brush and pulls away. in mere seconds, he slides the dress up and off of your figure, before guiding you out of his lap and onto the carpet. you watch intently as he hovers over you, pulling off his own shirt without doing so much as letting his eyes leave yours.

and boy, is he a work of art.

tattoos along his rib, you see dark letters that spell out 'CHOSEN' in a stark contrast against his skin. just above his waist, you see a bright red kiss mark, the vibrant in the same hue he'd painted his 'desire' toward you with. the same shade that stains your cheek, after he'd dragged his finger across it with watercolor.

instinctively, your finger comes up to palm it, circling the pair of lips in awe as he throws his shirt to the side. "so are you." you respond, a bit breathless from the high of the climax and the way he looks at you.

you don't miss the flood of pink in his own cheeks as he leans down to kiss you, peeling at your underwear with his fingers. when he gets them off, they are neglected just as easily as the thought of the jazz music that hums lowly in the back, drowned out by the noise of wet, sloppy kisses exchanged between you both.

the kisses grow messier, louder, as his lips move down toward your exposed cunt as he places several along your thighs, then a harsh lick along your clit.

a gasp leaves your throat, and you nearly squeeze your thighs shut as he suckles and rolls your sensitive parts around his tongue. the image is almost too much to bear; his head between your thighs, streaks of paint from his fingers that line them in an attempt to keep them open. your fingers make their way through his locs as you grip his hair, moans from your throat flying freely now.

"shiit, riki, i'm gonna-" your voice cracks at the devastating pulsing his tongue performs against your swollen clit. "m'gonna cum again, fuck." you manage to whimper out.

your eyes squeeze shut, though between flashes, you can see hues of yellow and blues have accumulated within the pale streak of his hair. whether it had been from the paint he'd coated your hand with from earlier, or the flecks from the tip of the paintbrush you'd both held, you weren't sure. but it all added to the image you'd never be able to forget; not now, not ever.

you come with a harsh shudder as he flicks his moist tongue through and around the folds of your pussy. "ngh!" you cry out, gripping the locs of his dark hair even harder as your thighs tremble.

he clutches them as you ride out your high, letting out a deep groan and bringing his head upwards to place another kiss along your cunt. "mhm, such a pretty girl,"

you can only twitch in response, growing weary as the second flood of pleasure washes over your senses. riki is already making his way back up your face with a line of kisses as he mutters sweet words into your skin.

he takes his time making his way up, running his fingers along the sides of your waist, the sticky sweat of it alone enough to activate a new blend of colors he spends on you.

the feeling of his hands along your skin is something you don't think you'll ever get used to. not with how every gentle stroke seems to set you on fire, sending you into a frenzy. the same, you begin to realize, can be said with regard to satiation. because as you lie, trying to recover from your last high, you practically ache to become close to him again. the once skin-tingling pleasure begins to shift to one of want when his lips find yours. "ki...." you mutter between kisses. "need you, please."

"i know, hun," he hums into your lips, the taste of yourself spilling onto your tongue as he kisses you. "gonna give you everything you need, promise."

but he's so agonizingly reverential. his hands move along your sides as if he'll break you should he grip too hard. he treats your body as if you were the painting from earlier, restraint of expression holding him back from painting you with all the brightest colors of his own.

you couldn't wait a second longer. not when you'd already waited for what felt like an eternity for a moment even remotely close to this; to him. so a slight push, you lift his weight from atop you, breaking the kiss.

"ki, i'm not like the painting, okay?" you say, running your hands along the base of the artwork that adorns his own body. "you're not gonna ruin me," you say, tugging at his sweatpants; which does a poor job at hiding his now leaking tip.

the darkness that falls upon his eyes is instant, and the once careful painter you'd known from earlier seems to fade away as the words leave your lips. it's as if he'd been waiting for you to say them all along, because his response is almost instant, his low voice practically dripping with need as he looks down at you. "what if i want to?"

this only makes you tug harder at his sweats, a low plea sliding off your tongue in desperation. "then do it, ki please do it." you gasp. "please ruin me."

and at your words, the last of his resolve crumbles. he practically rips his pants away, willing the space between you to ultimately disappear. "fuuckk, hun," is the only throaty, guttural warning you get before he lines himself up, and pushes into you.

the sensation is instant, hitting you as nearly as hard as the orgasm from mere moments ago, as the sheer width of his cock fills you with pleasure. you claw at his arms, pulling him down for any kind of support as he slams into you, a feeling that leaves you breathless.

a yelp emerges from your throat as you feel a sharp sting across your ass, accompanied by the echo of a slap. the sensation is so sharp you feel your eyes begin to well; that, just like his other markings, will leave a bright hue for you tomorrow, if it hasn't already.

the moans that erupt from him upon entry nearly send you over the edge again. it's as if you can feel the last of his restraint fray as he pounds into you mercilessly. he holds down your arms onto the carpet as he fucks you; as if you could go anywhere, anyway. as if you could do anything more than moan his name as he kissed, sucked, and nibbled at any exposed part of your body.

the moisture that spills between you sends the exchange of color down the valley of your breasts, and along his shoulders. it's a lovely shade of lilac that you've decided feels like passion, harmony, lust; all at once. and maybe one day, something more.

it's the same gorgeous shade you see when he breaks the kiss to look into your eyes. a gasp is evoked from you upon seeing the smudges materialize along his neck, a mix of the blue and red he'd given you.

you wonder how you look underneath him, smeared in the material with your mouth hanging open, willing your teary eyes to stay open as his cock drags in and out of you.

"beautiful," he says, as if reading your mind before picking up the pace. "long way from the back of the class, huh?"

you'd answer him if you could, but the only thing that seems to be able to leave your lips are the high-pitched moans that rival his low, deep groans as he speeds up.

his brows furrow as he presses his forehead to yours, his mouth parting in awe as he loses himself in the velvety warmth of your cunt. "i'm....not gonna last, baby." he mutters, biting his lip between grunts as the slap of his balls sounds throughout the living room. "i'm so close."

you felt yourself nearing the end, too, the coil in your stomach twisting and swelling with a sensation that threatens to spill over at any minute. the long lashes that riki peers through flutter every so often he watches you twitch beneath him. then, his brown eyes manage to stay open for just long enough to give a plea of their own, and a question, low, wrecked tumbles from his gasping lips.

"can i- fucckk, ngh," he starts, gripping your thighs with the tenacity of a man who longed for this just as deeply as you had. a man who took great pride in ruining you the way you insisted. "can i come on your belly, baby?"

you nod gently, whimpering out a soft "yes" as he tastes the salt along your skin with each sloppy kiss along your face. in a few quick, deep strokes, you're sent over the edge, gripping him with your walls as the nerves of your pussy flood with waves of euphoria. "sshiiittt, riki!" you hiss, the tears that formed from your pupils spilling over as he rams into you.

his eyes roll back after he sees you unravel beneath him. through visions of flashes of white you see his sharp jaw slacken as the heat of his breath glides along your cheek. "shit, (y/n) i'm gonna...."

the last of his resolve is used to pull out of your twitching cunt before your skin is pricked with liquid, hot and white, along the curve of your breasts, stomach, and facial features alike. "fucckkk" he groans, his chest heaving in delight. his lips find your face again, now adorned with streaks of his cum. "there she....fuckin' is." he croaks, as his eyes dart along the paint and cum littered portions of your figure.

he wills himself not to collapse on you, as if he'd ruin the very art he'd work so hard to create. but alas, he grows weak, succumbing to the fatigue as he eases himself onto your body, careful not to put all of his weight on you. there's a deep, low chuckle that sounds in your ear as he runs his hands through strands of your hair. "mhm, finally," he says, low, fucked-out. "got you right."

a swell of pride enters your chest, because his words, and the gentle expression of joy in his features as he kisses along your face, you know he's done it. finally brought to life the essence and emotion he'd been trying to for months; if not on canvas, he'd undoubtedly captured the image in his mind for many more months to come.

soft sighs and chuckles erupt from you two, and he takes his fingers to swirl the remaining color around your body gently. he does so the entire time eyeing you as if you'd truly been a mosaic, a mural, and the portrait all at once; as if you had been the real art this entire time. the once-forgotten bossa nova reemerges from the player, no longer drowned out by the sounds of bliss you'd created only seconds ago.

in a swift movement, he pushes off, and pulls you back into a gentle embrace, in no rush to clean either you or him, as if erasing the very proof that what had occurred would undo him completely, all over again.

something you also weren't in a hurry to do was to tell them about this particular con. being cheated wasn't always the case, of course; most of the sacrifices simply came with spent time, actions taken in the place of another; in the grand scheme of things, something as simple as a name could arguably be considered a small one.

other sacrifices, however, were greater than some. including those that led to being suspended in the air on a hot summer day in the backyard, piecing together the last of the play area for loved ones. though even as you swiped the sweat of labor from your brow with the back of your hand, you couldn't truly find it in your heart to feel wronged, or regret it. and maybe that had been the most important lesson of all to bestow upon them; to know that no matter how many or how often compromises needed to be made; you'd undoubtedly do it all over again, all in the name of love for your family.

it is the same love that sends rumbles the sturdy tree slightly as he announces his presence, pushing up against the trapdoor of the treehouse. the blonde hair peeks through the flap, then the gentle eyes of your husband, swimming with their own sea of sacrifices, come into view. a smile, though undoubtedly tired, follows as he pulls himself into the structure. "hey, baby." the deep voice of your husband echoes along the walls of the enclosed space.

"hey, ki," you respond, eyeing the way his sweat-glistened arms clutch a blanket in their grasp as he settles in. "break time?"

he nods, placing the rolled blanket, then two cans on the floor, waving you over with his hand. "c'mere," he says, unrolling the blanket for you to lie upon. "don't need you getting any more splinters."

you follow his lead, remaining seated against the wall as you help him undo the blanket. you didn't mind standing; the treehouse certainly permitted it in its height for you —and riki, sort of—, though your legs had felt like jelly, even as you crawled toward the soft fabric of the blanket to sit. it's a miracle riki's still worked after he'd done most of the heavy lifting, and after the recent house run, you couldn't help but be even more grateful.

"is that.....is that lemon?" you gasp, flopping belly first onto the safety of the blanket. "i thought we were out?"

he smiles, following your eyes to the cool drink, before popping the cap of the spindrift and passing it to you. "this was the last one." he says jokingly, sliding next to you in the seated position. "had to reach aaaalllll the way in the back to fish it out for you." he stretches the word dramatically, his sharp eyes glimmering in amusement as he watches you bring your lips to the can.

the first sip is magical, flooding your aching body with a sensation of near instant relief. then, the first of the energy that's returned by the refreshment is quickly spent on egging on his humor. "the things you do for love, hm?"

"the things i do for love." he reitirates, leaning down you place a kiss upon your forehead. then, pressing his fingers along your back, he utters, just as humourously, as if somewhat amused, "girls are out cold, by the way."

you let the snort fly as your head falls into the space between arms. at this rate, they ought to be; having kept the two of you on your feet since before noon. "how long do you think it'll last?"

his eyes flicker to the arched ceiling, as if truly pondering the thought before falling back upon you with a knowing look. "i give it thirty minutes."

"how gracious of you." you respond, chuckling. in all honesty, it would only be a matter of time before they were up and running again. it's why now, you enjoy the feeling of riki's hands rubbing along your shoulder blades, applying pressure as he makes his way down your back to ease the tension. "god, ki." you mutter in appreciation of the gesture. "that feels amazing."

he hums in acknowledgment, not taking his eyes off the way the sun from the sawed-out window collects in streaks across your back. from below his seated position, you offer a soft smile, propping your head upon your arms to admire his features as well.

they're beautiful, of course; even when covered in sweat and a mask of exhaustion, his angular face glows with delight. the brown orbs of his dote all the same; following each and every tiny movement you have to offer as he pushes into your back.

you can't help but let out a soft moan as he presses into an ache that's been bothering you since the start of the project, giving way to the sensation of ease that snakes its way along your nerves. your eyes flutter slightly at the feeling. "mph, ki."

he continues to press deeper, shifting his body closer to better do so. "mm," he hums, his voice dropping some as he works. "that good, pretty?"

you nod slowly, a whimper tumbling from your lips as he presses deeper into your lower back, sending a ripple of euphoria from below the pit of your stomach in all directions. his reaction to the notion is anything but subtle. as his sweat-glistened muscles move against your body, you begin to see the faint press of a hardening member against his pants.

he leans down, pressing another kiss to your face, before whispering in your ear. "look so pretty, mamas." he groans, his fingers moving dangerously low for something as merely innocent as a back massage. the implication is undoubtedly tempting, want filling the space in your belly, and evidently his, too. if not inferred by the way his fingers dance along your heat-soaked skin, most certainly by the way his lips wet themselves between kisses, the low grunt behind the petname he'd given you as he shifts even lower.

it was as dangerous as it was alluring, the thought. because one of the first times he called you 'mamas', inevitably led to him making you one. and while you had been pondering the thought of his promise with regard to offering up initials for each baby earlier, it was in no way, shape, or form something you wanted to make do on.

especially not now, drenched in sweat with your shirt and overalls clinging to your slick skin like a vice. with your hair pulled into nothing more than a practical work-efficient style; no dress, all mess, it was the farthest from sexy you could have felt.

"ki," you plea, willing the warmth of his hands to travel back upwards. "maybe we shouldn't—" you slip the words between kisses that he plants along your face. "i should shower first—"

a chuckle slides from his plump lips, and to know your husband was to know that laugh. the one that gave sheer irreverence for the statement made; anything he deemed remotely silly or frivolous, as if the idea of you smelling bad was the least of his concern.

"ki, i—"

"smell fine, hun." he insisted, sliding onto the blanket in the same manner as you; lying rather than sitting to fit his body closer to yours. "c'mere, hm?"

the words in your racing mind nearly fade to nothing as he cups your cheek, tilting it up to meet eyes with his. the purse of his lips as he looks at you stuns you silent, the same way the furrow of his brow in quiet admiration sends your heart into a frenzy. the same window you worried would be a hazard upon installation proved to be an excellent choice in hindsight. it allows the sunlight to spill onto the dazzling features of the magnificent man you married, casting him in a light so sincere you'd sworn the image had been plucked from the heavens.

the awe-inducing sight shifts into a feeling as he brings his lips to yours, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he moves against yours. though agonizing, you break the kiss to mutter the sentence that finally makes its way back to your head. "ki, the girls—"

"are still fast asleep, yeah?" he replies, hooking his finger around the loop of your overalls, tugging you toward him. "'saw 'em on the way out, right on the couch."

you push against his chest before he can so much as close the deathly slim gap between you both. "and how are we supposed to get to the bedroom?"

you picture riki's large frame alongside yours, creeping past the quiet hum of the television with legs just as wobbly as your own, practically sprinting to the bedroom in a manner that derived anything but futile results.

his bright teeth sink into his lower lip, and a mischievous glint makes its way into his sharp eyes as he narrows them a bit. "who said anything about leaving?"

you don't have time to give a response before he's kissing you again, the subtle snake of his fingers making their way along the strap of your overalls before tugging at them. "we can stay right here," he mutters lowly, between sloppy kisses. "you can stay just like that."

"ki, the neighbors," you whisper, as if they could hear you now. you prop up on your elbows, as if to convey urgency. "the window is still—"

"then i guess—" he says, making excellent use of his time as he manages to snake away the other shoulder of your onepiece. he mirrors your tone, only with a grin as he utters his next words. "we'll just have to be quiet."

"also," he shifts himself so that he's hovering over your belly-down figure, then tugs at your straps until they fall upon your waist. "never wear these again, please."

a defense for your tattered overalls bubbles in your throat, knowing they were intentionally picked to do work, not to be plucked off by hands that couldn't help themselves. but they don't get the chance to escape as he surprises you with a hook of his leg over your body, leaning down from behind your back as if to presume prone.

"stay just like that, pretty," he coos, brushing his lips against your ear as he presses down, only with his body this time rather than his hands alone. he drops his elbows alongside yours, as to give easier access to his lips. and when the pair find yours again, the pressing thoughts and worries of the outside world begin to slip. and for one, dangerously fleeting moment, as you feel the warmth of his body encasing yours, it feels as if they truly could be put at bay.

"30 minutes, hm?" he says, his voice thick with want as he wills any more words of reassurance to ease your concerns. "how's that sound?" the words are eager, dripping with desire as he places a sloppy kiss along your neck from behind.

dangerous, you think. as dangerous as the hum of his tone sent shivers along your skin, the ache of desire in his words accompanied by the message. the past week, amidst the sea of responsibilities, a sacrifice you'd undoubtedly made time and time again had been the time alone with your husband. often compromised by conflicting schedules and responsibilities of parenthood, it had been so rare to truly be with him, and him alone.

but suspended six feet in the air within the newly established treehouse, it was inevitable. pressed against the plush blanket under the heat of riki's body, you knew of only one barrier between the intimacy you'd been craving: the very clothes you bore.

still, you considered the number he'd provided to be rather optimistic, you settled on the feeling of a more realistic twenty; though if both instances had been proposed about at least three minutes ago, it was safer to say you had seventeen...sixteen, even. perhaps fifteen. or maybe less than that........

screw it, you thought, leaning into his touch as his kisses trailed along your neck, offering low bites and nibbles in between. you pushed up against his lower body, earning a low groan from him as he used his non-stabilizing hand to steady your hips. "shiittt,"

the hiss he emits is the catalyst for it all; the weight lifts from your back as he pulls himself up, fingers moving desperately to unfasten his belt from behind you. "fuck, baby," he grunts, and you feel the desperation in his actions as his frantic hands pull at the straps from around your waist. "think we can make it happen?"

your answer is the shimmy from the pants of overalls he tugs at, assisting him as he gets them from around your waist and off of your legs. "mhm," you verbalize, lifting your bottom —now in nothing more than a thin pair of panties— up toward the air. then, glancing very briefly at him, as if to shoot a warning. "maybe just.....not in thirty."

at your words, his palm finds the curve of your ass, gripping it with the fervor of a man who'd practically been itching for the moment, as if every stolen night, mismatched schedule, and shorthanded sacrifice had led up to the very moment. "you know i all i need is ten."

the weather has a sense of humor, the way the wind shoots through the window, ripping at the hot day and sending shivers along your wet skin as the rugged words leave his mouth. "fuck, ki." you moan, tilting your head back again, longer this time to ensure a glance at his undoing.

it's nothing short of magnificent, the sight. you could spend countless years with riki and never feel anything but a burning madness in your core as you watch the way his ravenous eyes rake your body in lust. the subtle slackening of his jaw and pinch between his brow as if in disbelief that he was and had actually been married to you.

"god, i'm lucky." he groans, reinforcing the truth his features already gave away. he brings his hand down against your ass in a sharp strike, the sound echoing along the walls of what was soon to be, —if not already— a permanent playhouse.

the sensation is hot against your skin, forcing your eyes shut and you to bury your face into the blanket to muffle the yelp that would come. sawdust floods your senses, the woodsy aroma of the incomplete floor devouring every jagged breath.

riki doesn't attempt to pull off your shirt, or even his own. he simply tugs his pants down, before pulling your panties to the side, welcoming a gentle breeze along the slick of your cunt. the light must hit the glisten almost as wonderfully as it had struck his features, because when you look back, his eyes, filled with want, dance hungrily along your bottom, as if aching to please you.

eat with your eyes first: riki exemplified this to a t, when time permitted. he'd spent hours between devouring you with his eyes if he could, dangerous looks from across the counter, deep glances in between mundane household tasks, all before he'd ultimately end up succumbing to the ache to pull you into any nearby room and strip you bare.

and you'd let him; usually of course. though in this moment, time hadn't been on your side. so, with another rock against his now fully erect cock, you feel a plea sliding of your lips as your core pulses with the need to be close. "ki," you breathed, urging him to bridge the gap. "ki please."

your begging seems to be the only thing to snap him from the lust-induced trance he'd entered. in a moment's notice, he grips your hips, then the width of his cock as he lines himself up, uttering low words full of want as he shallows the slick lips of your cunt. "fuck, baby, m'sorry." he whispers. "just so damn pretty."

the pressing warmth of his tip glides between the entrance of your cunt allowing the shared moisture of collective arousal and sweat to spread along your pussy lips and clit. the sensation causes your already weak knees to buck, trembling amidst your already crumbling disposition. you remained somewhere between doggy style and prone bone as he teased your aching clit, though at the same moment on an entirely different plane of existence.

you're brought back somewhat by his slim fingers taking an agonizing pace to roll the fleshy nub of your clit, then more pressure along your entrance by his cock. another hiss, shaky and delicate tumbles from his lips as he presses deeper to fill the space between your legs with the width of his erection. it earns a low squelching noise from the moisture along where your skin meets his, and your already weak legs feel tested as they try to support the first thrust.

"shiitt, ki," you gasp at the instant feeling of pleasure his length brings, the familiar splitting of his cock against your core as he presses deeper, rendering all thoughts useless. a moan burns against your throat, one you manage to silence at the recurrence of one very vital one; that the possibility of your neighbors hearing you is very plausible.

riki seems to notice this, the smirk evident in his voice as he pushes deeper, uttering his next words. "mm, you got it pretty," he coos, rubbing faster, tighter circles about your sensitive clit. "stay quiet for me, hm?"

a breathy whimper manages to make its way out upon the change in tempo, your hips bucking to chase the pleasure his fingers encourage. an involuntary spasm around his cock from the sensation that floods the nerves of your pussy follows, only heightening the rush of pleasure. the subtle rise in volume of your moans simply can't be helped as his fingers move, even if muffled by the blanket you hurriedly attempt to cover them with. "fu.....fu...ck, ki," you choke, between breaths.

your attempts grow futile as the rhythm of his hips moving against yours only aids in the string of rising expression. if he means to completely undo you in under ten minutes, he's well on track with the speed at which his digits move against your clit. and if somehow your mouth —agape, humming vibrations of bliss into the blanket below— could remain quiet; your body itself couldn't suppress the songs of pleasure they'd sing to him as his hands and cock alike brought you closer to the edge.

the low squelch of slick grows to an echo amidst the persistent slap of his balls against your pussy. it was undeniable; a devastating —and increasingly loud— display of the ache of shared desire you couldn't contain nor quiet down. the same way his hips hurriedly moved to meet yours in a desperately loud dance that chased the feeling of lust, pleasure, and you, you, you.

"damn, mamas," he seethed, and you could hear the subtle fraying in his voice, the teetering restraint of his own volume threatening to snap as he stretched every depth, curve, and warmth of your walls. "so......fu...ckin'......good, baby."

if not for squeezed shut eyelids buried into the depths of the cotton blanket, you could most certainly picture riki's expression as he rammed into from behind. it was the one he'd always wear upon his undoing. one you'd grown familiar with when you'd merely been dating, had grown quite accustomed to over the course of the honeymoon, and one you find solace in during quiet sessions before work, and in odd hours of the night.

a tormented look about his features as he buried himself into the heat of your pussy, clinging to and desperately trying to catch the feeling of his restraint, as rapidly as any sign of it began to slip. a quiver of his voice, a devastating knit between his brows, the vastly growing break between words as he'd chase the connection only your body could bring as he dragged his cock between your depths again, and again, and again.

riki, as if on the same train of thought, slows down his fingers, moist with effort and arousal to bring them toward your waist. "mph, fu....uck" he groans, tapping it as to signal movement. "wanna see you,"

the words usher a flurry of movement, with heat-induced sluggishness, though with enough urgency to convey desperation. within seconds of your back being pressed against the heat of the blanket, he's inside of you again, rocking the same desperate rhythm as a shudder races through him. "my.....fuckin'.....god," he croaks, fingers sinking deeper into your hips with each thrust.

he wears it almost as well as the sunlight along his golden features, dripping in beads of sweat, the expression. the one you could undoubtedly recognize, even if it rips a gasp of shock each time it sits among his delicate features. only this time, it's far more brutal than usual.

but only because you can viscerally see and feel the struggle in his movements; how hard he's trying to keep your body in pleasure without sinking too deeply into his own. he'll fail, of course: he always does. almost always ends up succumbing to the wave your body brings, his restraint slipping faster than the handle he can get on yours. subtle smirks grow unstable, lips as shaky as the breaths that leave them, and you feel your heart jolt at the gradual process. your fingers drift up to grasp his arms as he fucks you, trying your best to bite back the yelps that leave your lips. "ngh, fuuck!"

the building pleasure just below your belly twists upon the image of his plump lips trembling in pleasure hits a tipping point, and while unsure of how much time you've torn at, it's clear that it won't be long before you're spent. face up on the blanket rather than burrowed into it, a string of labored gasps, in between poorly contained whiny moans leave your lips as riki meets the core of your being in an almost metronomic sequence. "ki....ki," you choke out between moans, bound to a dizzying state of pleasure by the drag of his cock. "i'm.....so...fuck, i'm...so...close."

his legs spread to support him leaning down to hover closer to your body; his lips dragging along sensitive skin to mark. "i know, baby, i know," he utters, and at the tightening of his muscles, you know he feels the same. "can you stay quiet for me?" he grunts, the whispers dancing along your skin. "hm?"

and to your credit, there's an attempt made at satisfying words. but even getting out a hum of acknowledgment seems to be challenging within a reasonable volume. "mph!" you cry, biting your lip back to quit the stretch of pleasure that screams to flee from your mouth. "mh.....mhm,"

but the coil only tightens, the same way your walls do around him, in the same semblance of your aching throat; tightening and burning and itching before letting a string of moans from them.

it is only when riki clamps his hand along your mouth that you realize how loud they must have been. a soft, wrecked plea behind whimpers etching his throat "please......baby, please," he moans, slick hand curling around your lips.

and while this particular cry is desperate, you know it's not out of reverence for neighbors, nor for anyone outside the wooden walls of the structure. at the sight of his trembling lips, you know it's one for his sake; as if he needs you to quiet down— not for fear of being heard alone, but because every single noise, whisper, or shudder from your beneath his body threatens to send him over.

it's only further proven in the way his head tilts away from your body writhing beneath him, the squint of his eyes shut to block out any movement; the desperate clawing at his arms, the bounce of your clothed tits as he rocks into you; as if anything could set him off.

the desire is shared; the awareness that you both don't have much time in the same vein as wanting to remain together, lost in the feeling for as long as possible. his throat itches with a moan of his own, and even as his body grows to a ragged pace against yours; you know he doesn't want to be over yet. wishes to remain in that moment —quite literally suspended in air— free of outside obligations, sacrifices, the duties of parenthood. to be only with, amongst, and plunged in the depths of his doting wife, you alone.

but it's the overwhelming rush of euphoria that rips at the shared moment, replacing the feeling of connection with an intense jolt along your nerves. the orgasm hits sharply, your arms tightening along his in a slippery attempt to find grounding. a cry escapes your lips, and while riki's hand doesn't do much to console it as is, the tremor in it would suggest he's given up completely. "fu.....ck!"

his dark eyes open just long enough to see your undoing, before they squeeze themselves shut in pleasure as his shorly follows. "shhittt, hun i'm right—" his lips twist in bliss, shuddered gasps interrupting him at the way your pussy spasms. "i'm right.....fuc.....kin' there,"

you feel the tightening of his body against yours, watch in awe as the last of his resolve slips away, his mouth opening as if welcoming the flood you've brought. "fuu…ck, baby," he echoes, the coil snapping in one, devastating thrust. the single thread of his being erupts in a drawn-out groan that he lets out through a series of swears. "shh...ittt......fuck! fuuuuucckk,"

in complete and utter disregard for the noise level, his hand slips from your mouth, letting the shared symphony spill amongst the walls as you both ride out the high. "my.....fu.....cking god," he moans, clothed chest meeting yours as he succumbs to the weight of bliss.

your moans quiet into whimpers as the aftershocks swarm you, the feeling of warmth as welcome as the kisses he plants along your salty skin. you smile into the quiet affirmations he whispers, letting your slick lids flutter and fall over your orbs. "mpphh," a quiet sigh of contentment leaves your lips.

"i love you," your husband utters between heavy breaths, one of the many murmurs against the sensitive skin of your neck. "pretty mamas."

still smiling, your hand raises to bring your fingers through his honey blonde fringe to give the soft strands a gentle rake. "i love you, too, ki." you hum the words as he melts into your touch, head falling against the damp shirt. then, at the remembrance of most certainly having an audience along the string of homes down the road. "I really tried this time, promise."

a sharp snort escapes his lips, as if, in the very moment you mention it, he suddenly recalls the world outside of you. outside of the walls of the treehouse and the bubble of husband and wife. "screw 'em," he utters lowly, shoulders finally coming to a slow as his breath evens.

your hand leaves his hair to offer a playful swat along his arm. a silent apology to the neighbors for each rowdy night and rushed, boundless expression of passion that the walls or windows struggled to contain. It would be a miracle if, after the treehouse was built, you'd be able to look them in the eye. "is it too much to hope....that maybe...." you wince. "they didn't hear us?"

he lifts his head up at the comment, almost as smoothly as he does his thick brow. "hun, that's a biiig maybe."

the stretch in his syllable is exaggerated as before, though it rings with the clarity of a man spent; too tired from labor and love to lie. he brings his hand to yours to provide some semblance of comfort, and the expression on his features tells you he'd found peace, even a bit of humor in it all. the humor is something you still find yourself searching for and waiting for, just as you do for the other shoe to drop. because if the neighbors undoubtedly heard you, then the noise most certainly had a chance to wake up......

the thought doesn't even come to mind before the slide of the patio door does, followed by the excited patter of small steps. the walls of the home, if not excellent at being impervious to noise outside of it; could do nothing against the intuition of your kids. a sense, riki had told you they'd had. one that always let them know when their father had been specifically wanting alone time with you. and to his credit, most times; he'd be right. he'd gotten their idiosyncrasies down to a t; managed to expel a nearly comically accurate timeframe for exploitation.

so when the other shoe does drop in the form of your girls excitedly squealing from below about the new structure, the humor of it finally follows shortly after. and as riki groans, lifting his head up from your chest before offering a peck upon your lips, you know that you wouldn't change a thing. not your perfectionist husband, nor the hot day you'd chosen with him to finish construction; nor circumstances that cause him to shimmy into his boxers, then pants as he lifts from the blanket.

most nights were fine, when he'd sleep through them. you'd come home to a quiet apartment between the wee hours of the morning, just as he'd start to stir and get ready, and you began to settle down. it was nice, those mornings. the small space and window of time in which you'd get to see him, share a few words and maybe a warm drink as he prepared for classes, and you for bed. the only other time you'd get to see him had been during the evenings, as the same cycle continued but in reverse. but other days hadn't been so kind.

sometimes, upon entry into the apartment in the morning; it would be a mess. plates would sit along the counter, clean but in disarray. drawers and cabinets wide open, as if rummaged through by a madman. pillows thrown hastily on the floors beside the couch, accompanied by a sleeping giant who'd somehow made his way from his room.

these nights usually occurred halfway through and towards the end of the semesters. midterms and finals weeks, usually. stress seemed to be a pretty big trigger for his waking nights, so you always made sure to plan accordingly.

as silly as it sounded, one of the first things you brought for him had been cabinet latches. didn't use them all the time, of course, but had practically covered the entire apartment with them the week before finals. he'd even jokingly told you that you had taken it a bit far as you did, sitting at one of the swiveling stools as you put them along the edge of everything with a hinge.

but earlier that day, he'd also jokingly told you about a time he'd nearly tripped over a glass table during one of his episodes at his last apartment. so no, sealing off the knife drawer, to you, was not going far at all.

another thing you had made sure to do around these times, was to be quiet. deadly quiet. sure, it was something you had both agreed to do anyway, with respect to each others already wrecked sleep cycles. but as finals weeks neared, and you happened to be in the house, not a sound was made.

you'd made sure to put this into practice one night, when you had just come off a night shift cycle. you'd been restless that evening, your body still in limbo from the transition back to day shift. though it was midnight, your mind couldn't seem to find sleep, still searching for any source of stimulation as you sat in front of the television, willing your eyes to shut.

it started to work, eventually. the low chatter of the tv, accompanied by the blue haze of the light from the screen, eventually caused your lids to fall. you were just about to surrender to sleep as the credits to whatever movie had been playing began to roll.

and that's when you heard it. the twist of the door from the hallway. riki.

if you hadn't known any better, you'd probably just think he was stopping by for a midnight snack; maybe using the restroom. even getting ready to head out to a nearby club, had it been a weekend.

but it had been midterms week, and by now, you knew so much better.

so when the blonde emerged from his room, stepping into the living room, you sat up quickly; once again, wide awake. you watched in complete silence as he walked to the kitchen counter, called for someone named jay (you think it was a prior roommate, he did that sometimes), before he retreated to the bedroom. even if you had never actually woken him up from an episode before, he'd told you about how he'd wake up terrified when his friends would. so each night of finals week, if you were present and he happened to be having one of his episodes, unless he put himself in immediate danger, you were as quiet as a mouse. even on nights in which he called your name, specifically.

one more thing you did to prevent any misunderstandings during this time was to simply have him tell you if he was awake. half the trouble lay in not knowing when and when not to be extra vigilant, so it helped when you did. so on the days when he simply needed someone to chat with during the late nights of those stress-packed weeks, or simply wanted to grab a snack before bed; he'd simply tell you. if it hadn't been glaringly obvious, he simply say something along the lines of: "hey, i'm awake".

and outside of that, things with him had been....quite standard. he was a great roommate, through and through. kept the shared spaces and his own areas clean, and moved just as silently during the days when you were on nights. weekends especially, which, truthfully, you think is because he'd spent those nights up late anyway, sleeping off the hangovers in the mornings with you as is, but you never gave him a hard time about it. especially when he'd been so considerate to begin with.

you just hoped he shared the same generosity this weekend, because it happened to be exactly five in the morning, on the breezy saturday morning as you approached your apartment door in scrubs.

typically, you'd leave work closer to seven, but you hadn't been feeling well, so your administrator thought it wise to send you back a bit earlier. besides, the clinic hadn't been too busy that morning as is, and she didn't see the need for nursing students to come in on weekends anyway, not while some of their peers were out having fun.

peers like your very own roommate, who you'd hoped would have been back by now. he typically stayed out no later than 4:30 on weekends, usually with a group of friends, but you still worried for him sometimes. especially as the fall semester came to a close.

when you entered the apartment, you were relieved to see the blonde lying peacefully on the couch. his lids remained closed as you shut the door behind you, and slowly peeled out of your shoes. one of his friends must have dropped him off, by the looks of it. he wore a loose white top with sweats as he stretched across the couch; he probably had enough time to change before he crashed on the couch. doesn't look like he sleptwalked there.

at least that's what you think, before he opens his mouth.

"roomie?" he mumbles, laced with unmistakable sleepiness. "s'that you?"

you hang your bag on one of the hooks at the door, and make your way over to the couch. he hasn't told you he's awake yet, so you check for yourself.

and just as you'd thought, his eyes remain completely unopened, not even stirring as he calls out for you.

you pout at the sight, acknowledging that he's no real danger to himself as he lies on the couch, but also choosing not to respond to him. from the looks of it, he could use the rest; and you didn't even want to chance waking him up by responding. so with a swift turn, you walk back to the entry of the apartment, and creep into the kitchen.

"nevermind," riki sleepily rambles to himself. "that must be jake, hm,"

you have to hold in a snort this time. it almost pains you not to respond, but truth be told you want to see where it goes.

you suppose jake had been the one to drop him off earlier. you had only met him a few times, but you liked him. always takes good care of riki when they'd gone out, and brought him back in one piece, no matter the hour. you'd have to remember to thank him the next time he stopped by.

"mm jake," riki continues, completely unprompted. "can i....can i tell you something?"

turning away from the pantry, your eyes fall upon riki as he babbles to himself quietly. you shouldn't, but you're tempted to know what he'd tell jake if he were in fact here.

he then lets out a soft chuckle, as if he'd already said something funny. "i thought.....that....you were my roomie just a second ago," he snickered to himself.

you turn back to the pantry, pulling the cabinet latch ever so slowly to prevent a creak or louder than usual noise. you were just glad his jokes weren't so bad when he was awake. getting to a snack had never felt more dire, but you felt the need to hurry up, should dad jokes start leaving his lips in a moment.

"mhm, (y/n)," he says, nearly catching you off guard at the mention of your name. "that's her, that's the one."

in his mind, if he imagines he's still talking to jake, you wonder what else he would say. so when you pop the latch open for the pantry and reach for the long-awaited rice cakes you've been craving, you pause there, waiting for the next line.

and oh, you wish you hadn't. because the next thing he says makes you nearly drop the pack as you pull it out of the cabinet.

"yeah, i know, jake," riki says, as if it's something he'd told him several times before. then, lower, almost muffled as he turns toward the couch cushions and speaks again; "my roomie is......she's a....."

you pause, waiting for another terribly incoherent joke as he drawls on, only to get hit with words that make your jaw drop.

"she's a fuckin'......" he grunts, lowly, shifting again. "smokeshow."

you feel your face go warm as you clutch the bag of rice cakes in your hand.

he just called you a....what?

and despite the growing heat in your face, chest, and arms...he doesn't give you a break. keeps talking to 'jake' about you in ways you hadn't even realized he saw you in.

"mhm, and she's got these......" he starts again, something heavier in his throat, more raw. "these shorts that just-" he makes a noise, something between a grunt and a groan, muffled by the pillow that sounds almost unreal.

your eyes widen at his words. surely he doesn't mean them, right? surely these are just the unintelligible ramblings of a sleep-talking man. that's what you tell yourself at least, as you hold your bag of snacks like your life depends on it.

"oh my god, jake," he says again, and this time, you can hear a smile in his sleep-dazed words. "i tell you, if she weren't my roomie, i'd just-"

nope. this is real. all too real, you start to realize it when you nearly drop the cakes on the floor as you head to your bedroom. you nearly forget to reattach the cabinet latches before heading to your space, mind now racing with the fact that your roommate sees you like that.

shutting the door behind you (quietly, of course) is enough to drown out his words for the rest of the morning; but when midday-to-evening hits, you aren't sure what you'll do.

---

you wake sometime after 4pm, to the golden hour rays shining through the window of your bedroom. you were happy you didn't work this evening, and let yourself stretch along the queen-sized bed of your room.

the stack of rice cakes from earlier remained on your nightstand, and as if on queue, your stomach growls. you supposed you hadn't gotten to eat too many this morning. even so, who could blame you, with everything you had heard?

not thinking much of it, you change out of your scrubs (that you fell asleep in), and crept your way back into the kitchen for something more filling. as you passed the living room, you saw that the couch was now empty, only hosting two throw pillows instead of the twenty-year-old man that once lay there. you guess he'd made his way back to his bed at some point, maybe he still slept.

just in case that happened to be, you moved quietly as you popped two slices of bread into the toaster. it was the least you could do, really. he'd definitely have a hangover after running with jake for the night, and the only thing worse than that alone was living with someone who didn't care. someone who'd slam cabinets and carelessly cause commotion as you'd tried to nurse your throbbing head from the night prior. and before riki, you'd known living with people like that all too well.

but as the blonde emerges from his own room with a stretch and a yawn, you realize there was no point to begin with.

"hey, roomie," he greets, his voice still thick and deep with slumber himself. he must have just awakened as well. maybe he'd stay up with you a while then, before he inevitably went out clubbing again. maybe he'd keep you company for some time.

you'd always liked times like this, when your schedules or sleep patterns lined up every so often. made things easier for both of you, and made for a good hangout time when you were both up for it.

although as your toast sprang from the mini oven with a 'pop', you weren't entirely sure how much you actually wanted to hangout with him today, at least. "hey, riki." you respond, avoiding his gaze.

it wasn't that you were bothered by his thoughts toward you, just....surprised. not only by the truthfulness of his words earlier this morning, but by the delivery of them. as you reached to grab the toast from the oven, you couldn't help but hear it again; the low groan he'd made when he described the shorts you wore around the apartment, how he seemed to unravel at the very thought, even as he slept.

you felt your face go warm in remembrance, placing the two slices of toast on a paper plate as you opened the fridge.

"oh, toast, nice," riki jokingly boomed, taking a seat at the island as he watched you move throughout the kitchen. "save me one?"

the warmth in your face turned to full-blown flames up your back, down your legs, and through your arms as you realized you'd bent over just slightly to reach the butter on one of the lower rows of the fridge. it wouldn't have been a big deal any other day, until you remembered that you absentmindedly threw on the shorts that he'd been raving about in his slumber.

but before he can catch on to the tension within your body, you simply tell him, "sure," avoiding his eyes to hurry up and butter the toast.

from the corner of your eye, you see riki tilt his head at this. you knew he was kidding of course, just didn't have the heart or brain function to banter with him in the moment. not when you knew that he thought of you as a quote: smokeshow. not when you knew the things he'd thought about doing to you in his dreams.

you nearly drop the butter on the ground.

"(y/n), i was only joking, yeah?" he says, shrugging it off. "i'm not actually going to take a slice of your toast."

you still haven't faced him, simply letting out an awkward laugh as you buttered both slices of toast, hoping to avoid his gaze.

he seems to pick up on this, because after a moment, he pauses. "is everything....okay?"

no. you want to tell him. absolutely not. because every time his eyes land on you, you feel as if you'll burst into flames.

"you haven't looked at me at all today," riki continues, his deep voice now thinning with a light curiosity. "did i... do something?"

you finally turn to him, and it's at the worst moment, because oh, do you have a terrible poker face. you couldn't tell a lie to save your life, not when your expression alone spoke for you. so the second you meet eyes with riki, his own squint back in inquiry.

you couldn't fib if you wanted to, which becomes apparently true as your eyes flicker away from his sharp ones, trying to find the right words. "you had....an episode last night." you start, still unsure of how to outright say it.

his eyes flutter in shock. he must not have remembered it at all, not after waking up on the couch or after clubbing with jake. "oh, damn," he speaks. then, nervously. "did i break anything....?"

".....no....." you respond softly, as you wrack your brain for the right words. "you uh....you said something."

a lot of things, actually.

his brows furrowed in confusion, his plump lips forming a pout as he eyed you down. "oh, like what?"

your skin tingles at his gaze, skin still flush from the memory of it all. "you said some stuff....about...me, riki."

and in a moment's notice, it clicks. the pout once formed in his lips leaves his features, and his eyes dart across your features erratically, as if he'll find the answers there. "what did i uh...." he pauses, swallowing for a moment. "what did i say?"

but based on what you've told him, and the way his jovial disposition had shifted into something more serious, you know he has an idea. he simply wants you to confirm whether or not it's as bad as he thinks it is.

so you tell him the truth, letting out a breath as you do. "you called me a smokeshow," you say, dropping his gaze. "and you made it really clear you liked my shorts."

he bites his lip, and looks down into his lap as a bright color begins to creep up his neck, past his ears, and tinge his cheeks. now it's his turn to avoid your gaze. because it is, in fact, just as bad as he thought it would be.

you never thought you'd see the day nishimura riki get flustered, especially not over you. he'd usually remained so cool, collected about everything. even jokingly flirted with you on the occasion. though that had always been in good faith, you suppose.

and if you were in his shoes, you'd feel flustered, too. it's as if you'd taken a glimpse into his most private and personal thoughts, all without permission, as he slept. it wasn't as if he could help it, really, like he could control it.

he looks back up at you, a newfound guilt in his expression. "i'm sorry," he says, letting out a low huff as he meets your eyes. "that must have made you....really uncomfortable."

the expression that finds his features next is one you've personally never seen him wear, but know all too well. it's the expression that you'd imagine he's worn several times before, when he'd felt like he'd overstayed his welcome, overstepped a boundary. it was the pained expression of someone who's done this dance a hundred times before, moved countless times in the past. it was the expression of him knowing that he'd no longer be welcome there, the pained realization that once again, he'd be looking for a new roommate. only this time, it wouldn't be for sleepwalking alone.

and the second he speaks, your suspicions are confirmed.

"i uhm...." he starts, his eyelids fluttering as the flush remained in his cheeks. "i can be out in like a week, if you want." he says. "i think jay still has a spot for me, if need be."

you squint, unsure of why he'd feel the need to move out at all. you'd simply told him what he did, not that it made you feel weird. yeah, your heart seemed to jump around him now, and an embarrassing ache in the pit of your stomach seemed to come whenever you looked at him, or thought about how he sounded as he lay on the couch. but that had been anything but discomfort, and you certainly didn't want him to move out.

but he continued, stepping off of the stool as he began to head back to his room. "i'll stay out of your way, for the time being, if you want-"

before he can take another step away, you grab his hand, which like yours, feels warm to the touch. "riki, no," you clarify. "i'm not asking you to leave."

he hums lowly, eyes now revealing a question as he watches you from across the island, his hand still in yours.

he awaits your response, and you find yourself clearing your throat as you look up at him. "i don't....want you to leave." you say.

"i just wish that....." you try to find the right words. "that if you plan on talking about me like that, you'd take me out first."

a soft smile creeps into his features, the glow of the blush still sitting along his ears. "yeah?"

"yeah," you say, a newfound confidence fueling your next words. "then maybe i'd model these shorts for you all the time."

a booming laugh leaves his lips, and he leans in, over the island so that he's at eye level with you. "well then," he says, his siren-like eyes and blonde hair glowing under the last of the light dusk had to bring. "guess we'll have to arrange that, hm?"