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FANGS · NISHIMURA RIKI

SYNOPSIS ⋮ heaven is nothing compared to how you taste ❤︎⁠

PAIRING ⋮ vampire!ki x fem!reader

CONTENT WARNINGS ⋮ DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!!! +18 smut. blood play. college!au (barely relevant) graphic descriptions of wounds/blood sucking (he’s a fucking vampire like… pls) old fic of mine so the writing may be Terrible im sorry lol edited it a lil tho marking degradation corpses/dead bodies mentioned piv unprotected sex semi-public sex established relationship religious concepts fingering lmk if i missed any!! DON’T LIKE? DONT READ.

AN ⋮ okay originally i wrote this for another fandom but i’ve been itching to repost it for enha considering they fit the concept sm better… i’m sorry i HAD to scratch it and NOBODY will give me shit for it alright #STFU anyway first dddne fic Shibal idk how to feel. lmk ur thoughts! i might dabble in it a bit more haha..

PLAYING ♫ ⋮ spit — show me the body, princess nokia

RIKI’S BEEN HOLDING HIMSELF BACK.

he remembers the day he met you—nerves aflame, senses overwhelmed. his vision was blurred at the edges, and his nose filled with a scent so intoxicating it made his throat burn.

it wasn't perfume, strangely enough. it wasn't annoyingly artificial and heavy, nor did it pierce his senses and make his eyes water like most scents.

it smelled sweet. a faint kind of sweet that he couldn't fucking take.

“what the fuck?”

his head was spinning, beginning to wonder just how he's missed it before.

the teacher’s voice barely cuts through the dull hum of the lecture theatre—the scratch of chalk against the far, distant board, the soft shuffle of pages, the heavy air of disinterest. half the class is asleep, on their laptops, or unfocused. nishimura riki’s no different—except for the fact that his head hangs low not from boredom, but from something else entirely.

a bead of cold sweat slides down his temple, his jaw strung tight; like he’s just caught the scent of a five-course meal served fresh.

it doesn't take long for him to leave the room.

his footsteps are uneven and unsteady, breath coming out in shallow bursts as the scent wraps around him, seeps into his lungs, takes him apart piece by piece. it’s maddening—sweet, warm, alive like it’s calling his name—it pulls him forward like a leash.

“where. . . where the fuck is it?”

riki doesn’t even know where he’s going anymore, only that he has to find the source. it’s instinct, pure and raw.

he’s lucky the halls are empty, immensely fortunate no one’s around to see the cracks in his composure, the way he’s unravelling like a wild animal.

it’s human.

he'd never smelled anything like this. he thinks he'd have gone crazy if he had to—whoever it belonged to, he knew he wouldn’t have stopped at a single bite.

no, he’d have sunk his fangs deep into their neck, drawn out every last drop until the body went still and cold, until the hunger inside him was quiet.

as if it ever could be.

when his palms slam against the heavy, paint peeled doors, the echo rings down the empty hall—followed by the rush of cold air that hits his face.

riki stumbles outside, chest heaving, that scent still tugging him forward. the path ahead stretches toward the open field and basketball courts—familiar, quiet, sun-warmed and filled with laughter.

to his right sits the old storage room, the one crammed with dusty basketballs and forgotten PE gear, its door cracked open just slightly—where the smell, that maddening, mouthwatering scent, is strongest.

riki licks his lips, eyes bloodshot while sweat sticks to his skin; he knows, logically, he cannot eat here.

his lack of planning is clear when he runs forward, anyway. riki’s slender fingers pull the old door towards him, and he thinks if he applied any more force that it would've come right off it's hinges.

a girl.

you were doing what no one else bothered to: keeping equipment after practice.

your arms ached, breath coming out in uneven pants as you dragged the heavy plastic boxes of badminton rackets into the corner of the dim storage room. you didn’t notice the door creak open behind you, didn’t feel the eyes burning holes into your back.

your scent—your breath, your sweat, the faint trace of perfume clinging to your skin—hit him all at once. it was intoxicating, suffocating, too much for him to take in at any single moment.

riki’s hand flew to his nose and mouth, desperate to contain the hunger clawing its way up his throat: and when you turned around to look at him, he could only swallow thickly.

you were beautiful.

not in the way the most appetising meals usually were, but in that sickening, gut-twisting way that made him want to drop to his knees and beg whatever cruel god cursed him with this hunger.

you looked too pure, too golden, too gentle to devour—like touching you would defile something holy—as if any breath he takes wasn’t already sinning.

in his centuries of existence, nishimura riki had never felt such a visceral need course through his veins; it only shows in the way he doesn't know what to do, eyes staying locked on yours as his cold body stills.

"oh," you smile at riki, your feet shoving the last box back into place. you sigh, dusting your hands on your sweat-stained shirt. your pretty lips are all he's thinking about—he thinks he'll have dreams about this, about how good you'd taste while you writhe underneath him and beg to be let go. "uh . . . do you need something? i was just packing up, sorry—"

you look at him with concern when he just shakes his head, hand still clasped over his mouth and nose like he'd just smelled something foul. a little rude, but you can’t blame him for acting such a way after an hour under the sun.

“do i smell that bad?” you giggle, swiping the back of your hand across your forehead—a simple, innocent gesture that makes his throat tighten. his eyes flick to the drops of sweat that trickle to the floor, glazing over the way your jersey clings to your torso.

his answer comes muffled. “no.”

he bites the inside of his cheek, sharp eyes following every bead of sweat that rolls down your skin, glinting in the light, glistening like something meant to be tasted.

nishimura riki is going mad.

he uses all his force to tear his hand away from his face, and you raise an eyebrow at how he's panting oddly hard. like he'd just ran a marathon.

he’s speaking through uneven breaths. you wonder if he needs to sit down, drink some water, because he looked like he was about to have a heat stroke—but in all honesty, all nishimura riki needs, right now, is you.

"do you . . . need some water? i could get you some from the vending machine.”

he looks at you like this—eyes wide, cheeks flushed and hot from running laps, worry softening every feature—and he almost forgets what he is.

“y-yeah, sorry. thought i left my bottle here.”

you’re concerned for a monster, and that alone twists something in his chest. you, with your gentle voice and unguarded heart, were far too kind for someone like him.

the corners of your lips turn upward. “you can drink mine, if you don’t mind.”

too good. too human.

all it does is make you more irresistible.

─────────────────────────

NISHIMURA RIKI FINDS YOUR FIRST MEETING KIND of ridiculous to recall, because his situation now is even crazier.

a few months down the line and riki found himself harbouring feelings for a fucking human. his peers whispered, sneered, and park sunghoon was simply the worst of them all—leaning back with that annoyingly smug look on his face that didn’t seem to show any real concern, sharp fangs flashing as he spoke: “you’re not gonna last a month with her.”

maybe riki did it out of spite. maybe it was pride. he likes to think that it’s mostly because he’d fallen hard—far harder than he ever thought possible—for someone as gentle as you.

someone who’d look at him without judgment: without that big wooden hammer that everyone holds against him when they look his direction, without that moral weighing scale that determines his every action.

someone he trusted so much that, eventually, he told you what he really was: albeit under unfavourable circumstances which painted him in the most horrible, monstrous light.

still, you found the good in nishimura riki. even when his mouth was full of blood, the scent of metal filling your nose and the sight of his bloody teeth and dark eyes making your stomach churn in anxiety.

it’s dark. cold. wet with the smell of cigarettes mixed with rain. the alleyway is tight and puddles of muddy water lay beneath your converse, light barely outlining your lover’s figure hunched over a stiff corpse.

your sweet voice echoes and bounces off the brick walls, dampened only by the soft trickle of rain down on the ground. “ki? is that you?”

after you take a cautious step forward, the sound of your soles against concrete makes his head snap toward you. riki’s head snaps up, frozen—a deer caught in headlights. eyes wide, feral, hands fumbling to wipe the blood from his mouth like a child caught eating cookies in the middle of the night.

“y/n—“

and the painful truth, that even he didn’t want to face, was that he was getting hungry—running out of bodies to feast on, running out of time, running out of everything before his restraint finally snapped.

it’s only natural that eventually, he started fearing the worst: that he might resort to you.

so what does riki do?

he accepts the distance. widens it, even. he tells himself it’s mercy—that this is the better option. that stepping back is an act of kindness he would never have extended to you if you had been anyone else.

months passed like slow torture—long, airless months of denying himself your warm love, of stepping back each time you reach for him, of shutting down every fragile attempt you make to close the distance between you.

riki is not afraid of you.

he’s afraid of himself.

sometimes he lies awake and wonders how he ever learned to breathe you in without unraveling, because he still remembers that afternoon in the old storage room—the dust in the air, the heat under his skin, the exact moment his restraint wound tight and he felt himself slipping, terrifyingly, willingly, out of control.

the best solution, of course, was to run. still, that didn't work very well—he always thought you were quite talented at locating him, much more than he was with you.

"you. . . you—“ you sobbed, fists balling his shirt in your palms, tears streaming down your face as if it wouldn't stop anytime soon. "was i supposed to find out like this?”

riki swallowed hard, throat dry with the taste of iron still lingering. the dim glow of the streetlight barely cut through the night, but it was enough—enough for him to see everything.

the way your eyes refused to meet his. the tremor of your lips. the way your shoulders shook with every fractured breath. it hit him like a blade to the gut—the silence that stretched between you, the lies he’d once wrapped in good intentions now unraveling at his feet. and still, staring at you like this, he felt it deep in his chest: it was never just a lie. he’d sinned, again and again, until this moment arrived like judgment itself.

"i didn't want to hurt you."

hearing that broke you even more.

you grit your teeth. "so this is why you’ve been so fucking distant?"

that was true, unfortunately so, because if it were any other girl—this would’ve never been an issue.

riki would have been satiated a long time ago, belly warm and full of blood that took almost no effort to get.

he didn’t know why he’d let himself fall for you, love you, only to deny himself the one thing he craved most.

he didn’t know why he subjected himself to this agony—and now, you’re looped into it, too.

he didn’t know why he’d thrown himself into this slow-burning torture, why he’d chosen to know you first, to touch your life before ever touching your skin.

the cold air brushes against your skin and you’re shivering; nishimura riki momentarily wonders how warm your blood must taste in comparison to the icy night air that fills his lungs—how it might soothe that constant burn crawling up his throat, how it might feel to finally taste something that wasn’t so lifeless, so stale.

it’s a cruel thought, and he hates himself for it, but he can’t stop the way his fangs ache or how his eyes fixate on the soft pulse at the base of your neck.

riki had begun to pull away, slowly—getting up from the middle of the night from your bed, slipping his clothes on and disappearing swiftly into the night—he settles for scraps, blood from bodies tossed away by the rest of the group.

he still remembers the look of pity on heeseung’s face the first night he did that.

you never knew about any of it. riki would always brush your concerns off, stating that he had other important stuff to deal with; the specifics never clarified.

the lie couldn't hold up once you found him that night. it was too late. in the back alleyway of some random internet café, nishimura riki held a (now) cold neck to his mouth, slurping and sucking every last drop of blood.

"then take it from me," you breathe, beginning to undo the first two buttons of your blouse. "please."

if riki were human, if any heart of his were still living, it’d been pounding, rattling against his old ribs.

riki’s breath leaves him in a shaky exhale. the laugh that escapes is quiet, humourless—more broken than bitter.

“do you even know what you’re fucking asking for?” he mutters, voice rough, almost pleading for you to understand just how dangerous he was. that it wasn’t going to be a small nibble, a little trickle of blood; he knows himself too well for that. “y/n. don’t say shit you don’t mean.”

you’d never understand.

he’d sink his fangs so deep, mouth open wide, jaw locked tight as he drives them into the crook of your neck until the warmth fills his throat and the world blurs into red.

until he’s had his fill. until you’ll fall limp. until you can’t even say his name anymore.

and what would he do then? cry? mourn you like he was ever capable of doing so?

“of course you don’t. never thinking straight—shit, you think you’re so fucking smart.”

his hand twitches at his side, fingers curling into a trembling fist as he forces himself not to reach for you. the other brushes against the rough wall, nails digging into brick to ground himself, to keep the hunger at bay.

you don’t answer him. the sound of fabric rustling as you pull your sleeve down, your chest falling and rising at a worrying rate. riki hears it all booming in his ears, and he licks his upper canines at the sounds.

each movement is deliberate, like a dare, as you unbutton your blouse. the air between you tightens, heavy with anxiety and something deeper that neither of you can name.

“i’ll kill you.”

you bite the inside of your cheek. riki watches you, chest tight, as if waiting for you to turn and walk away—in which case he tells himself he’d move neighbourhoods and erase the memory. “i’ll really fucking kill you, y/n.”

but you don’t step back.

instead, you’re closing the distance in small, steady steps, the copper scent of iron thick in the air and prickling at the back of your throat. when you take his blood-slicked hand and press it to your neck, riki’s knees nearly give out; the world narrows to the tremor of your pulse beneath his palm, the rustle of fabric, the shallow, frantic inhale that passes between you.

his breath catches—and for a beat, the alley holds nothing but the two of you and the terrible, aching choice you both already know the answer to.

riki looks at you like he’s coming undone, as if he’s being pulled apart at the seams of his being: back then, he wished for nothing to be a normal, human boy who could love you in every sense of the word—romantically, intimately, sensually.

he prayed for the day he could have you underneath him without fearing himself. to hear your moans and nuzzle his nose into your neck, breathing in the very essence of you—it seemed like a silly dream to him.

so when you breathe shakily, pretty lips parting just enough to whisper, “i want you to,” it’s like something in him snaps; the last thread of restraint tearing clean.

before you can even blink, riki’s got your wrist in his grip, dragging you through the narrow alley and into the nearest bathroom, the door slamming shut behind you with a sound that thumps like a heartbeat he no longer has.

─────────────────────────

THE FAINT HUM OF COMPUTER’S BUZZING and keyboard mashing on the other side of the door is drowned out by the filthy sounds of you and nishimura riki’s—who you recently discovered was a vampire—make out session, which soon escalates to said vampire popping all the buttons of your blouse in an attempt to rip it off.

you squeal when he lifts you by the hips, setting you on the cheap ikea counter that the owner didn't bother to replace years back—riki remembers this cramped, dim bathroom from 50 years ago, when it nothing but an empty, abandoned building in the middle of an even emptier neighbourhood.

"fuck—" riki groans, nose rubbing against your jaw as he licks stripes of the skin on your neck. "i can't—shit, you smell so fucking good."

"i . . . want you, ki,” you mewl, ticklish from his rough tongue which still had someone else's blood on it. he smelled horrible, like he'd just been in an operating room where blood sprayed all over his body. "i want all of you."

he's starving. he's incredibly hard, too, and you know this because the tent in his pants is pressing against your inner thigh like it has nowhere else to go. you bite your bottom lip so hard that the skin breaks, and your own blood begins to meet your tongue.

his breathing hitches as soon as it happens, the hair on his neck standing. he parts from your neck, half lidded gaze locked on your lips which were bitten raw and smeared with your blood.

riki almost fucking whimpers at the sight.

“tell me no,” he growls, words scraping pathetically against his throat like he’s choking on them. his hand trembles where it holds your jaw, thumb dragging across your pulse that beats so sweetly under his skin. “tell me to stop.”

his breath fans hot against your neck, fangs just barely grazing the surface—a threat, a promise. you look up at him through your lashes, lips parted, trembling but certain. “i don’t want you to.”

that's all it takes for nishimura riki to slam his lips against yours, tongue lapping at every drop of blood that trickles from the broken skin.

you feel teeth clash, and you're locked under his touch that undoes every button on your blouse. riki stands steadily between your parted legs, your blouse thrown somewhere onto the floor—he's still wearing his hoodie, but you suspect with the way that this is going... it's coming off in sub 5.

"so good—tastes so fucking good, baby," riki moans between open mouthed kisses, savouring the flavour of your saliva and blood mixed together; he'd never had you this way, never gotten this close. "i need more, i need you."

he bites down harder on your bottom lip, sharp teeth sinking just enough to draw a bead of blood. the sting makes you jolt, a quiet sound escaping your throat before his hand shoots up, fingers wrapping around your jaw with practiced ease. his grip is firm, possessive—a warning dressed as tenderness.

don’t move.

his mind is hazy, that familiar feeling of nerves being on fire returning to him. riki almost faints with how overstimulated he is from the sheer pleasure, that little amount of blood drawn from your lips teasing him so fucking well.

he almost rolls his eyes back when you press harder against him, your hands moving quickly to wrap around his neck; he pulls away from the kiss, a red string of saliva being the only thing that connects the two of you, trickling like honey down your chins.

"ki. . ." you whine, wanting to close the gap, but he remains unresponsive.

sweat clings to riki’s forehead, the flickering bathroom light casting him in a feverish glow—lips parted, tongue dragging slow across blood-stained teeth.

he looks at you like a starving man, gaze heavy and delirious, locked on the frantic pulse in your neck.

every shallow breath he takes trembles with restraint, as if he’s holding himself back from tearing you open just to see how deep your warmth runs.

“y/n.”

once he gets a taste, he’s not sure how he’ll stop himself. even if he somehow does, he already knows he’ll never move on from this—from you. there will be no blood that could ever compare, no pulse that could ever sing the way yours does beneath his touch.

you are his greatest love, his sweetest sin.

the most exquisite meal he’ll have the misfortune of craving forever.

riki’s kicked out of his daydream when your hand reaches for the back of his neck, grabbing a fistful of his locks. he winces, but does nothing to fight back.

you pull him closer, his nose now barely grazing your neck.

you smell strongest here. he can hear it—the rush of blood through your arteries, your heartbeat loud and steady like a siren’s call. it fills his nose, his head, his every thought, until something inside him gives way.

every fragile thread of restraint snaps all at once. riki’s eyes flutter shut as he presses his nose deeper into your skin, breathing you in like salvation—like you were a divine offering sent down to forgive him for all his sins.

“fuuuck, baby. . . you smell so good.”

nishimura riki knew you were just temptation; but what he also knew was that he was falling for it.

you shake from the contact, feeling riki’s tongue beginning to lick stripes of the skin on your neck—it’s cold, and you feel the occasional graze of teeth that you know riki’s trying hard to fight.

his cock is twitching at the mere thought of tasting you already.

you feel a shaky exhale of cold air against your clavicle—it ghosts over your skin before vanishing, replaced by the sudden stillness that makes your pulse sound deafening in your own ears. riki pulls his head back, eyes dark and wild, the faint light catching on the sharp curve of his teeth.

you mutter, shyly. the command barely matches your demeanour, your flushed cheeks and bashful smile.

"bite."

nishimura riki's head snaps forward, fast and brutal, fangs tearing through the soft flesh of your neck. the impact knocks the air out of your lungs; pain blooms, hot and dizzying, before it’s swallowed by the pull of his mouth.

blood floods into him, thick and sweet, spilling past his lips as a low, guttural sound rumbles in his throat. “haaa. . .”

you feel his teeth sink deeper, inch by inch. your heart beats wildly, knowing that your lover could probably feel every pound, every thump against his mouth and tongue. he moans against your skin, tongue lapping around the two puncture wounds now permanently tattooed on your body—a symbol of your devotion to a monster.

“k-ki, oh—“

the sight only makes him harder.

your hand flies to your mouth, desperate to smother the scream clawing its way up your throat—but riki’s quicker, palm covering yours, pressing it harder against your lips.

your lover’s touch is trembling, almost tender, but his fangs are buried too deep for mercy to matter. tears spill down your cheeks, blurring your vision until the world is nothing but heat and pain and the sound of him drinking like he’s starving—like he’s been waiting for this all his life.

"tastes so good," riki speaks against you, slurping and sucking at every drop he can get his sharp tongue on. "so fuckingsweet, baby."

the way riki is desperately pressing his body closer to you, nose taking in as much of your air as possible while his mouth worked against your skin; it stirs something deep inside your core, twisting, eating away at your body from the inside.

his hands are everywhere—they’re gripping, clawing, trembling. your chest presses flush against his, and he lets out a muffled moan. the line between sin and salvation blurs completely, and nishimura riki sinks into it like it’s the only truth left in the world.

"it hurts, ki, fuck—" your speech is muffled against his palm, and he retracts his head to look into your eyes.

his irises are nothing but dark, tinted with a kind of red that made you shake.

he pulls his hand away, and he almost falls to his knees when you speak again in that loving, concerned voice of yours. "t-too much!”

blood runs down your clavicle in thin lines.

he's staring at you like he’s been struck, torn between the ache of hunger and the guilt clawing at his chest. his blood-slick lips part, trembling as he exhales.

“it hurts, ki,” you sniffle, “why does it hurt so much?”

the warmth spreads through him, pooling in his stomach, coursing down his oesophagus like fire and ice intertwined; nishimura riki slips entirely from the boy you knew, every trace of restraint gone, leaving only the monster he spent so long trying to keep buried.

"i'll make it feel good, baby," riki licks his lips, his cold palm running against your soft cheek, gently, like that’s all he’s been. “do you want that?”

you whimper when riki uses a finger to swipe the blood running down your skin, before he pops it into his mouth. he sucks his finger clean before he pulls it out of his mouth, a pop! sound echoing through the cramped room.

riki looks at you like he hasn't had enough—because he simply hasn't. the blood isn't enough.

no, now, he needs more of you.

his bloody fingers trail down your waist, eventually tracing your inner thigh—they inch closer to your entrance, and you feel his cold fingertip hook the thin fabric of your panties. he pulls, and it snaps against your skin, before he finally drags it down your perfect legs.

your breath hitches at the breeze of cold air that brushes against your bare skin.

his digits trace your folds, faux gentleness evident; you know he's just holding himself back.

"can't tell if you're wet or if it's just the blood," riki smirks, smug, head leaning in to close the gap between your neck and his mouth. “you wanna take a look, baby?”

his fingers sink into you, past that tight ring of muscle and deep inside your gummy walls—they’re stupidly long, moving slow as the blood from your neck mixes with your slick—it’s sticky, warm, so unbelievably dizzying as your head drops low to take a better look.

his fingers are stained red, swallowed by your pussy periodically as he pumps his digits in an out. you can’t tell if it’s mostly blood, either.

he breathes against your skin again, cold breath fanning against the open wound. you grit your teeth from the mix of pain and pleasure, the former pulsating from your neck and coursing through your veins, while the latter originates right from the core of your body.

you don't know which one makes you lean into him—the fact that he's teasing you with his fingers, or the fact that the pain begins to feel too fucking good for you to pull away.

“stay still for me, baby. like that, yeah—good girl.”

riki sinks his sharp teeth into your flesh again, his middle finger pressing firmly against your clit as if to distract you from how he loud he sucks at your skin.

you whimper and squirm at the action, but his fangs remind you to stay still. "r-riki, o-oh my god—"

the feeling of his thick fingers rubbing frantic circles at your swollen bud makes you dizzy—the pain comes secondary, trailing behind the pleasure that hits you with every curl of his fingers inside your cunt. it comes in waves, throbbing, sickening pulses that make your heart pound.

"feeling better?" he jeers, tongue running over the wounds. he savours the sweetness, closes his eyes like he's in heaven. "still hurt, baby?"

"y-yeah, fuuuck. . ." you whine, feeling the force of suction on your neck, but the sheer pleasure from riki’s fingers on you almost causes your vision to go white. "need more—it hurts too much, riki—"

"think i need more, too," riki interrupts your babbling, voice low and ragged—the words drag out between heavy breaths. he pulls back from your neck, lips and chin slick with red, tongue darting out to taste the remnants of you as if he can’t bear to waste a single drop.

he wants to feel your lips tremble when he finally puts his cock inside of you, whimpering against his; he thinks it must feel better than drinking you.

riki tastes like copper and iron—metallic and raw—reminding you of that time you’d held a coin in your mouth back in grade school, curious about what it tasted like. his lips fit perfectly against yours, like some kind of cruel, ironic fate.

when your teeth clash with his, it’s messy, desperate: tongues collide again, the taste of blood shared between you until you can’t tell where you end and he begins.

"i’ll make you. . ." riki murmurs between kisses, each one hotter, needier than the last—"feel so good. . ." kiss. ". . .till it doesn’t hurt anymore."

his voice breaks at the end, breath ghosting over your mouth like a promise he’s too far gone to keep.

his fingers push back into you slowly—your slick coats his fingers to the knuckle—the squelch of your cunt making his stomach grumble, as if he hadn't just tasted your life with his tongue and teeth.

you gasp softly, mouth hung as his long digits reach impossibly deeper. riki watches your expressions with an amused look painted on his face, eyes not knowing where to stay—your neck, which bleeding slowly, or your sweet cunt which sucked him in like it couldn't get enough. your eyes flutter shut as you wrap one arm around his neck, clinging onto him as if he wasn't the reason for your pain.

"o-oh!”

riki’s mouth latches onto your neck once again, fingers working simultaneously to pump in and out of you with sharper precision. he’s never done anything like this with you before—for good reason—but somehow, his hands move like they already know every inch of you.

as if he could predict every shiver of your body, every moan that would come out from your mouth if he'd just move his fingers here and there.

perhaps, in some twisted way, you already belong to him. he’s marked you in ways no one else ever could, claimed you with a bite that runs deeper than skin, into your very being.

now, he runs through your veins.

"don't know how i lived without you," riki mumbles. a sharp pain sends jolts through your body, and he feels you writhe in response. "be good for me, baby—doing so good."

you whimper at the praise, trying your very best to keep still as riki’s slow drag of fingers send you into overdrive. the room feels hot and sweat is clinging to your skin; his fingers feel so impossibly long and delicious, hitting every spot that made you see a new star.

"feels s-so good, ki," you breathe shakily, head tipping back until your nose points to the ceiling. riki smiles against your skin, lips wet with the mess he’s made—blood smearing across your neck as his tongue drags along the wound, tasting every drop like he’s worshipping it.

"squeezing me so tight," riki mocks, and he wonders momentarily if he should've done this earlier; he's got his teeth deep into you, and you still rut against his fingers like you need more. "you like this? you like it when i touch you here?”

perhaps being a vampire wasn't as much of a curse to your relationship as he thought it would be.

"mmmhm, love it, i love you," the words slip from your tongue, too fast for your own brain to register. you don't even think, can't even talk properly with the way he fingers you like he's done it millions of times before.

your hips move on their own. his fingers curl so sickeningly good as he continues his meal—the pain has faded, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your brain only registers how good nishimura riki was making you feel.

"such a good girl for me," riki whispers, loud enough for you to hear but not to care. "should reward you for this, huh? for letting me eat?”

you whine when he pulls his fingers out of you, cunt squeezing around nothing. riki looks up at you through his messy, black hair that hides his still ravenous gaze, eyes focusing on how your lips quiver.

“can’t fucking help myself.”

so, he unzips his pants, eye contact unbroken as he slips it off—it falls to the floor, pooling at his ankles. riki’s thumbs hook onto his briefs, pulling them downwards in one swift motion, lips curving into a maddening smile that only makes you leak.

he leans into you, lips meeting—the kiss is much slower, gentler. riki feels like he's on fire, like his skin is warm for the first time in centuries, heat blooming from his abdomen and spreading all over his body.

riki pulls away again to get a better view, head hanging low. he aligns his swollen tip with your entrance, tapping a few times just for the sake of teasing—you wiggle your hips, and he sucks his teeth at the impatience—eyebrows knit together in frustration as his gaze darts from where you two are soon to meet and where your cute face stares in anticipation.

"shiiit. . . " riki exhales shakily, hips stilling before he pushes himself in. the stretch almost knocks you out cold—he's long, thick, and each vein prods at your walls like they’re begging to be remembered; his jaw drops slightly, lips parted as a low moan leaves his throat. "o-oh, fuck. . ."

your walls squeeze him so tight. so warm, inviting, wet, the smell of your slick almost as sweet as the blood on his hands.

"'s too big, riki," you sniffle, arms clawing at his shoulders like it was the only thing keeping you steady. "i can't, i can't—"

he presses kisses to your jaw, then your ear, before biting down on the cartilage—you almost fucking cum on the spot from the feeling of pain radiating from the new wound, mixed with riki’s cock splitting you open.

“you can, baby. come on, please—be good for me. won’t hurt for long.”

you hear every measured breath he takes, each one heavier than the last; his tongue traces the thin trail of blood that’s dripped down to your earlobe, lapping at it with slow, deliberate strokes. it tickles—almost tender—but the bruising grip he keeps on your waist reminds you just how easily he could crush you if he wanted to.

he sinks his length into you agonizingly slow. it’s a cruel mercy to get you used to his size, and it almost feels worse than the pain itself with how it reminds you that this is the only solace he can offer.

"k-ki, please," you whimper as his tip kisses your cervix, "please, oh fuck—hurts too much!”*

you’re driving him crazy.

“i know, baby,” his tongue slides over your flushed ears, “you’re so cute when you’re clinging onto me like this.”

riki sinks his fangs into your ear once again, before retracting his hips—you whine at the emptiness, before he slams his hips into you like he'd finally lost all restraint.

"o-oh my god," you moan shamelessly, completely disregarding where you two were. for now, it feels like you’re alone with him, and these four walls are the only you’ve ever known.

the noises of students clicking keyboards, footsteps of people leaving and entering the establishment.

none of it matters anymore while nishimura riki has his teeth in you, his dick stretching you out.

"dirty girl," his breath tickles the shell of your ear, his voice sending chills down your spine. you feel blood run down the side of your jaw, to your neck, and riki laps it all up. "you like the pain? like when i. . ." he licks a long line right next to your tragus, "fuck you like this?"

what is he even saying?

his voice reaches you, muffled, ringing in your ears before your brain can really comprehend the speech. it’s all too much. he’s too much.

riki’s snapping his hips into you at a brutal rate, his ears picking up every pulse thrumming through your body. riki is so, so fucking grateful for his amazing hearing—he catches every soft whimper and cute moan that his cock pulls from you, the faint sound of your heart beating in the background, and he can't decide which one resembles heaven the closest.

"of course you do," riki confirms when he takes a moment to register just how wet you really are, feels like your pussy is talking back to him; your slick and his precum mix, squelching sounds echoing through the room. “too fucked out to say anything? come on, baby. tell me you love it.”

they're comparably less loud when he hears how you moan his name.

“k-kiii, yesyesyes—i love. . .” you bite down on your lip to silence the scream threatening to claw it’s way out of your throat. “hngh—fuck, i love it so much—“

you can barely string together words, breath hitching as his name falls from your lips again and again—a broken prayer, a plea, a promise of devotion.

“keep it down,” he whispers, “wouldn’t want anyone else to see you like this.”

riki thinks the blood from your ear isn’t nearly as sweet as the taste of your neck, but it’s softer, less cruel, and perhaps that’s why he lingers there. this is his way of atonement—a desperate, pathetic attempt to make something so unholy hurt a little less for you.

you cling onto him as he sucks, fangs fully puncturing the flat of your ear. you cry in response to the immediate, throbbing pain that follows, before riki angles his hips just right to fuck you stupid enough to see stars dancing around.

"so good, riki," you bite down on your lip instinctively, tasting the faint metallic tang from the cut he’d left there earlier—the memory of that first kiss reborn on your tongue. the moment the scent of your blood hits him, his head jerks up, eyes dark and wild. “g-god, you’re so fucking big—“

it’s instinct, barely thought, when he crashes his mouth against yours, the kiss messy and desperate. you melt into it, into him, all tongue and blood and saliva.

“you’re gonna kill me, baby.”

he moans into your mouth as his hips rut into you, abs flexing with each movement. riki tries to fight every part of himself that screams for more. the gnawing hunger is scraping at his ribs and threatening to tear him open; he wants to drain you dry, spurred on only by every sound you make and every whiff of sex his nose catches.

"you’re so fucking wet for me," riki mutters, forehead pressed against yours. "all mine, forever."

you can't think. your mind is filled with the smell of blood, how you've probably lost so much of it already. you pity your heart, your flesh, things you've so readily offered to nishimura riki on a silver platter, but somehow don't, can't regret.

his strokes are rough and romantic, clearly proof of how needy he was—even now, with his cock deep inside of you and your blood on his hands, he's nothing but an animal putting his own needs first.

plap, plap, plap. fucking into you like this was his life’s purpose: like the blood is secondary to whatever he’s feeling right now.

a warm feeling blooms in your abdomen, and it coincidentally earns a moan from your lover. "you're close," riki’s breath ghosts over your lips, and you're truly stunned at how you don't even realise how close you are until he acknowledges so. "s’cute—gonna cum all over this fucking dick? yeah? all yours, baby.”

you throw your head back at his words. it's too much for you to handle, every thrust knocking the wind out of your lungs—riki’s quick to press open-mouthed kisses along your neck, tongue dragging flat against your skin, right over your jugular where your pulse beats frantically beneath him. every breath he takes shudders against you, shaky and uneven.

"i'm gonna cum, riki, fuuuck—!"

his cock twitches inside of you, and you swear it swells bigger with every passing second. the room is filled with nothing but a cacophony of moans, wet slapping of skin and desperate, hungry slurps of blood. the build-up isn't slow for you, every coil in your stomach tightening at a frightening speed; the nights where you touched yourself to visions of him could never compare to being stuffed full like this.

riki’s hand holds your neck still, the other pinning your hips down to the counter. his pace starts to falter, hips stuttering as he fights his premature orgasm—the least he could do was for you to cum first.

"cum for me, baby," he commands. his voice is low and sends vibrations that pulse throughout your body, and it sends you over the edge. "cum all over me."

every thought you have is wiped from your mind, vision going white with a deafening ring in your ears. you gush all over him, body spasming underneath his touch, screaming silently with your jaw hung.

it’s mind blowing. your thighs twitch, lips quivering as they lock behind his hips—your hands claw at his back, digging deep into the cold flesh, clinging like a desperate mutt.

"o-oooh shit. . . fuck," riki’s eyes almost roll to the back of his skull when he feels you squeeze him so tight, he could mistake your cunt for a vacuum. his head hangs low, eyes locked on how your juices continue to coat the base of his dick. he continues to fuck himself into you, albeit slower, and you watch his eyes through wet lashes. "gonna cum inside t-this perfect cunt, y/n,"

you swear he has hearts in his eyes. they're red, completely red now—your orgasm lasts excruciatingly and embarrassingly long, though nishimura riki pays no mind with the way you squeeze him for everything he's got, all while you cover him in the sweetest liquid he's ever smelled.

this definitely beats the blood.

"sooo fucking perfect." riki runs his tongue over his fangs, but he's convinced he'll have to taste both to see which really fares best.

you moan with each sloppy stroke, the sounds of his hips meeting yours now louder by tenfold, all thanks to the extra lubrication.

it's messy, needy, rough, haphazard—every word in the dictionary combined couldn't describe riki's pace, groans slipping past his lips as he pounds your cunt like he wants to make a family.

"riki—" you cling onto him, closing the gap between you. your arms find their way around his neck, and you feel humiliated with how fast you feel that build-up in your stomach again: if you could look at riki, you're sure he'd have a sickening smirk painted on his face. "slow down, o-oh my god,"

"can't," he responds, too eager for you to miss, "fuck, gonna fill you up and make you mine, y/n."

and in an attempt to ground yourself to whatever plane of reality you’re in right now: you bite back.

your teeth sink into his skin, his blood beginning to bead beneath your lips. his eyes go wide, a mix of shock and something darker flickering behind them, like the line between pain and pleasure had just blurred beyond recognition. riki almost cums, embarrassed at how it makes his cock twitch so fucking hard—your small, pathetic human teeth that were incapable of sinking as deep as his, but still trying anyway—it's making him go mad.

"cum inside of me," you whisper devilishly into his ear, and he can hear how you lick your teeth clean; a mocking portrayal of him which flips every switch in his brain. "want it so bad, ki, please."

that’s all it takes.

“g-gonna cum, baby, fuckfuckfuck—“

he slams his hips into you one last time. a harsh thrust sends him over the edge and you feel impossibly warm, riki’s cum filling you to the brim—you muffle your scream by driving your teeth further into his muscles, which tense under your bite.

he moans, lewd, loud as he stills inside of you, head hanging low as he tries not to fall to his knees.

"o-oh fuck, y/n,” riki sucks in air through his teeth, panting as his lungs try to even his breathing. "baby. . .”

a few beats pass in silence, your cheek now resting against his shoulder as your nose nuzzles against his neck. he breathes heavily, cock still plugging you closed.

his grip tightens, fingers digging into your sides like he’s trying to anchor himself to reality—to you. his chest rises and falls in uneven rhythm, the sound of his breathing loud against your ear. when he exhales, it trembles. he’s holding you as if the smallest movement might shatter the moment, or worse, make you disappear.

when you lift your head from his shoulder, his eyes meet yours—brown again, soft and dazed, like he’s only just come back to himself. he looks wrecked, lips glossy with blood and saliva. the sight makes your heart pound.

riki tilts his head slightly, gaze flicking from your eyes to your mouth, and for a moment, he looks at you like you’re the only thing tethering him to what’s left of his humanity. he leans in close, fingers gripping your frame, lips greeting yours in a way that speaks gentleness.

"i love you," riki breathes between soft, lingering kisses—the tenderness of it all feels almost foreign after everything that’s happened, and it makes your heart do backflips. “i love you so much.”

for just a second, you catch a glimpse of the riki you fell for months ago—the one who smiled at you in the halls, who brushed your hair from your face like you were something delicate. "you’re mine," he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper, fangs grazing your skin again. "forever."

“i love you too,” you whisper, cheeks flushed with a delicate innocence that somehow makes the danger in front of you seem so much softer. “all of you, ki.”

he’s not sure if you’re an angel sent by god or temptation delivered by the devil.

either way, he’ll take damnation or forgiveness—whatever it costs, so long as he gets you.

© kissued 2026 — do not repost, edit, redistribute or translate my work without prior permission and credit. all my work is strictly fictional and not an accurate representation of these people in real life.

wonton88

Soft Things Unattended

Pairing: yakuza!Ni-ki x fem!reader

Genre: Yakuza themes, kidnapping, angst, fear, suspense(ish), fluff

Synopsis: When Ni-ki leaves the room for only a moment, everything goes wrong.

Word Count: ~1.6k+

A/N: Hai! I honestly love me a good yakuza story with Riki so I thought I’d give it a try! I hope you all enjoy!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Flour dusted the counter like fresh snow.

Ni-ki stood behind you, arms loosely bracketing your waist as you leaned forward to peer into the oven, brows furrowed in concentration.

“It’s not burning,” you said, amused. “You can relax.”

“I don’t trust it,” he replied flatly, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth anyway. He reached forward, brushed a smear of flour from your cheek with his thumb. “You’re bad at waiting.”

“You’re bad at letting things be,” you shot back, turning your head just enough to bump his nose with yours. He kissed your nose, squeezing your waist a little tighter.

For someone who ruled half the city through fear, Ni-ki was unbearably gentle with you.

That was the problem.

The phone rang.

He stiffened instantly.

Not startled - alert.

You felt it before you saw it, the way his body went still, the warmth behind you sharpening into something coiled and dangerous.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, already pulling away and patting the top of your head. “Don’t move, okay?”

You nodded easily. Why wouldn’t you? This was your kitchen. Your home.

Ni-ki stepped into the hallway, phone pressed to his ear.

“…What do you want?”

A pause.

Then his jaw tightened.

“Careful,” the voice on the other end said mildly. Amused. Almost…taunting. “You shouldn’t leave soft things unattended.”

Ni-ki turned sharply. “What did you say?”

The line went dead.

At the exact same moment-

Glass shattered.

The sound ripped through the house like a gunshot.

“Y/N!”

Ni-ki spun, sprinting back toward the kitchen-

Too late.

The window above the sink was blown out, shards glittering across the floor. Cold night air rushed in. Flour streaked the tiles in chaotic smears, your mixing bowl overturned, batter dripping slowly onto the counter.

You were gone.

Ni-ki stopped dead.

For half a second, the world went silent.

Then something in him snapped.

“LOCK THE HOUSE DOWN,” he barked into his comm, voice terrifyingly calm. “Find out which clan moved tonight. I want names. Now.”

Guards flooded the space, weapons drawn, voices overlapping - but Ni-ki barely heard them. His eyes were fixed on the floor.

On the faint drag mark near the window.

On the broken glass.

On the single earring resting neatly beside the bowl.

His hand closed around it, hard.

This was the earring he gifted you on your wedding day. You never took them off.

You’d left it for him.

On purpose.

“…You trusted me,” he murmured, something raw breaking through his control. Then his gaze lifted, burning.

“Big mistake.”

♡

The rival clan’s compound lit up like hell itself.

Ni-ki tore through it with ruthless precision - doors kicked in, men disarmed, screams echoing through concrete halls. He didn’t waste words. Didn’t ask twice.

The man responsible was waiting for him.

Leaning casually against the far wall of the corridor, hands tucked into his pockets like this was nothing more than a game well played. Blood smeared the floor near his feet - evidence of Ni-ki’s path through the compound.

“You move quite fast,” the man said lightly. “I almost admire it.”

Ni-ki stopped.

The air around him shifted - heavy, lethal.

“Where is she,” he said.

Not a question.

The man smiled. “Still alive. You’re welcome.”

That was his mistake.

Ni-ki crossed the distance in a blink.

The impact sent the man crashing into the wall, breath tearing from his lungs as Ni-ki’s hand closed around his collar, lifting him clean off the ground.

“You broke into my house,” Ni-ki said quietly.

Calm. Deadly.

“You touched what belongs to me.”

The man choked out a laugh. “You’re getting sloppy. Leaving her alone. Softening.”

Ni-ki’s grip tightened.

“I was kind enough to keep her untouched,” the man continued hoarsely. “Thought you might want to thank m-“

The sentence never finished.

Ni-ki released him only long enough to strike - fast, precise, brutal. He didn’t shout. Didn’t lose control.

He ended it.

When the body hit the floor, Ni-ki didn’t look back.

He stepped over it like it was nothing.

Because the only thing that mattered was you.

♡

By the time he reached the back room, knuckles bloodied, breath steady but lethal, he already knew.

And then he saw you.

Tied to a chair, wrists bound, hair disheveled - but upright. Breathing. Eyes snapping up the second the door opened.

“N-Ni-ki—”

He was across the room in seconds.

“Hey. Hey, hey, hey,” he said urgently, already crouching in front of you, hands shaking as he worked the restraints loose.

“I’ve got you baby. I’m here. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have -“

The ropes fell away.

You barely had time to inhale before his hoodie was draped from his arms to your shoulders, his hands cupping your face like he needed to make sure you were still real.

“They didn’t hurt you?” he asked, voice low, frantic. “Did they touch you? Say anything? Are you dizzy? Should I get the doctor?”

“I’m okay,” you whispered, though your hands were trembling. “I was scared.”

That was enough.

Ni-ki gathered you up without another word, lifting you bridal-style and sinking down onto the floor with you settled securely in his lap.

His arms locked around you like steel, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other tracing your arms, your sides - checking. Grounding.

No one else came near.

“Get out,” he snapped to his men without looking up.

The room emptied instantly.

Ni-ki pressed his forehead to yours, breathing you in like oxygen. “You did so good,” he murmured, voice breaking just a little. “You were so smart. I found the earring. I was never not going to find you.”

You curled into his chest, fingers gripping his shirt. “I knew you would.”

He closed his eyes at that.

When he carried you out, the night felt quieter somehow. Safer.

And Ni-ki never loosened his hold - not once - like the world had already proven what happened when he did.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed! Sorry if it felt rushed, I’m struggling with pacing a bit but hopefully I can product longer stories soon! I had fun writing this one so tell me if I should do more yakuza Ni-ki.

wonton88

Still Breathing

Pairing: vampire!Ni-ki x anemic!reader Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Supernatural, Soft Angst, Fluff Synopsis: When your body gives out before you do, Ni-ki is forced to confront hunger, fear, and love - all at once.

Word count: ~1.8k

A/N: Hai! This is the third story I’m writing today 🥀. That’s okay though! I’m having fun! I hope you guys enjoy this one too!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Ni-ki knew something was wrong the moment you stopped talking.

Not abruptly. Not dramatically. You just…faded.

Your steps slowed as you walked beside him, shoulders slumping a little more with every passing second, your replies to his questions turning softer. Shorter.

“You okay love?” he asked for the third time.

You nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He didn’t believe you.

You smelled off - not in a way that made his hunger spike, but in a way that made worry twist uncomfortably in his chest.

Your skin felt cooler than usual when he brushed his fingers against your wrist, and when you swayed slightly, he caught your elbow without thinking.

“Hey,” he said, sharper now. “Sit down.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, already lowering yourself onto the couch anyway.

That’s when it happened.

A sudden warmth beneath your nose. A blink. Then another.

“Oh,” you murmured, confused, reaching up -

“Don’t touch it.”

Ni-ki was already in front of you.

You froze at the tone of his voice - not loud, not angry, but tight. Controlled. His eyes were fixed on your face, pupils slowly widening as the metallic scent reached him.

Blood.

Not much. Just a thin trail slipping past your upper lip.

But it was enough.

Ni-ki swallowed hard, jaw locking as he forced himself to look away, fingers digging into the fabric of his hoodie. He took one step back. Then another.

“Ni-ki?” you whispered, dizzy now. “I think I-“

“You’re anemic,” he said quickly, grounding himself in facts. “You told me. You didn’t eat today.”

“I did,” you protested weakly. “I just… forgot.”

His chest rose and fell too fast.

“Stay right there,” he said, voice low. “Don’t move.”

He disappeared into the bathroom, gripping the sink as he splashed cold water onto his face. He stared at his reflection - at the way his pupils refused to shrink, at the sharp edge of hunger pressing at the back of his throat.

For a split second, a thought crossed his mind—unwanted, intrusive.

How easy it would be.

He slammed his eyes shut immediately, knuckles whitening against the sink.

He hated himself for even thinking it. Hated the part of him that reacted before love, before reason.

You weren’t food. You were his everything.

I love her.

He grabbed tissues, a clean cloth, iron tablets you kept in the cabinet because he made sure you did.

When he came back, he moved slowly.

Deliberately.

“Okay,” he murmured, kneeling in front of you. “Lean forward a little.”

You obeyed, eyes glassy.

He pressed the cloth gently beneath your nose, careful not to touch your skin more than necessary. His hands trembled - not from hunger alone, but from fear.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

That almost broke him.

“Hey,” he said softly, lifting your chin just enough to meet your eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

His gaze flickered - just once - to the cloth, now stained faintly red of your blood.

He inhaled sharply and immediately looked away.

You noticed.

“Ni-ki…” Your voice was small. “Are you okay?”

“I should’ve told you sooner,” you whispered. “I didn’t want to worry you. I know it’s…hard for you.”

He let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh. “I should be asking you that.”

The bleeding slowed, then stalled - like it wasn’t quite ready to let go yet. Ni-ki’s thumb twitched against your knuckles before he stilled it, jaw tightening again.

Eventually, the bleeding subsided. He helped you lie back, keeping his distance even as every instinct screamed to pull you closer.

“You need to eat,” he said. “And drink water. And rest.”

You nodded, eyelids drooping. “Will you stay?”

That did it.

He hesitated only a second before sitting beside you - far enough to breathe, close enough to protect. He took your hand carefully, thumb brushing your knuckles in a repetitive, grounding motion.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promised.

Your breathing evened out slowly, exhaustion pulling you under. Ni-ki watched every rise and fall of your chest like it was the only thing tethering him to the world.

When you finally fell asleep, he stayed awake.

Hours passed. The hunger seemed to fade. The fear didn’t.

Later, when you stirred, he was still there.

“You didn’t leave,” you murmured.

He shook his head. “I never would.”

“I was scared,” you admitted quietly. “Not of you. Of how much it hurt to see you like that.” You squeezed his hand gently, “You held back.”

He swallowed. “Always.”

A quiet moment settled between you - soft, steady, safe.

And for the first time that night, Ni-ki let himself breathe.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

A/N: Yeah so let’s be real I’m going to be writing a few more tonight. 🙂 Welp. I hope you enjoyed and if you have any requests feel free to send them!

wonton88

In Control

Pairing: vampire!Ni-ki x human!reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Domestic Supernatural, Fluff

Synopsis: Ni-ki has mastered control - until blood enters the equation. When instinct overrides reason, distance becomes both a shield and a mistake.

Word Count: ~2k

A/N: Hai! This is the second storyline I’ve written today! I’m in the writing mood so I hope you all enjoy!!

ੈ✩‧₊˚

Ni-ki liked moments like this.

Not because he needed to eat - he didn’t, really - but because standing in the kitchen with you felt normal. Safe.

You moved around the space like it belonged to you, sleeves pushed up, music playing softly from your phone while he leaned against the counter and pretended not to watch.

The knife slipped when you weren’t looking.

It wasn’t dramatic. Just a sharp sting and a quiet inhale you hadn’t meant to take.

You looked down in mild surprise as a thin line of red bloomed along your finger.

“Oh—”

“Don’t.”

Ni-ki’s voice cut through the room.

You glanced up at him, startled, and immediately understood why he sounded like that.

He was frozen. Completely still, eyes locked onto your hand. His pupils had blown wide, swallowing the brown until they were almost black. His fingers curled tightly at his sides, knuckles pale, like he was holding himself in place by sheer will.

“It’s okay,” you said quickly, pulling your hand closer to your chest. “It’s just a small cut, I—”

“I said don’t,” he snapped, louder this time.

The sound echoed too sharply in the kitchen.

You flinched.

Ni-ki noticed. He always noticed.

His jaw clenched, chest rising too fast, and he turned away abruptly, gripping the edge of the counter like he needed it to somehow stay upright.

“Why would you be so careless?” he said, the words rushing out before he could stop them.

They landed wrong. Heavy. Unfair.

“I didn’t mean to,” you replied quietly, shrinking into yourself.

He let out a short, breathless laugh - strained, not amused. “That’s the problem.”

For a moment, it looked like he might say something else. Apologize. Step closer. Instead, he took a measured step back, then another, putting distance between you like it was the only thing keeping him in control of the situation.

“I need you to stay here,” he said tightly. “Don’t come near me.”

Before you could respond, he turned and walked down the hall in a determined stride.

The door to your shared room slammed shut.

The sound lingered long after it faded.

You stood there alone, heart beating a little too fast, staring at the space he’d just left behind.

Slowly, you turned back to the sink, rinsing your finger under the faucet, watching the water swirl pink before clearing.

You wrapped it carefully. Quietly.

You told yourself he hadn’t meant it. That he was just scared. That he was trying to protect you.

Still, the house felt wrong now. Tense. Like it was holding its breath.

You grabbed your jacket.

Just for a little while, you decided. Just long enough to give him space. Time to calm down.

Before leaving, you tore a page from your recipe notebook - long forgotten in the chaos - and folded it once, setting it gently on the counter.

I’m okay, I promise.I just thought it might help if I gave you some space.Please don’t feel bad. I should’ve been more careful.I love you.

You slipped out quietly, closing the door behind you with a soft click.

♡

Ni-ki didn’t come out right away.

He stayed in his room, sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands, breathing slowly like he’d practiced a thousand times before. He told himself the distance was necessary. That he’d done the right thing.

Eventually, the sharp edge of hunger dulled. Panic eased.

Guilt rushed in to take its place.

He stood abruptly, opening the door of your shared bedroom.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered to himself. “I shouldn’t have-”

The apology died in his throat when he stepped into the hallway.

The house was quiet. Way too quiet.

“Love?” he called softly.

No answer.

His chest tightened slightly as he moved through the kitchen, eyes catching on the bandage by the sink. Clean counter. Knife put away.

Then he saw the note.

His hands trembled as he picked it up and read it.

You’d apologized.

You’d left to make it easier for him.

Something in his chest broke open.

“No,” he whispered, crushing the paper in his fist. “I messed up. I messed up.”

He grabbed his jacket and phone without thinking.

♡

Your location wasn’t updating.

The realization hit him all at once, sharp and utterly nauseating.

“No—no, no,” he muttered, fingers trembling as he refreshed the screen.

Once.

Twice.

Nothing.

You could be anywhere.

The thought made his chest ache painfully.

Every worst-case scenario his mind had spent years suppressing clawed their way to the surface, one after another.

He’d scared you. He’d pushed you out. And now he didn’t even know where to start looking.

He checked the streets first. Then the park. Then the small convenience store you liked to go to when you couldn’t sleep.

Nothing.

With every passing minute, the guilt settled heavier in his chest, crushing. He replayed the moment over and over - your flinch, the way your shoulders had curled inward, the sound of the door shutting behind you.

I did this.

He wasn’t afraid of the hunger anymore. He was afraid of himself.

By the time he spotted you, sitting on a quiet bench with your shoulders hunched, he nearly collapsed from the relief alone.

He stopped short, breath catching painfully in his throat.

You were still there.

Still safe.

He stopped abruptly when he saw you.

“Hey,” he said, voice unsteady.

You looked up, surprised - and then worried. “Ni-ki?”

He crossed the distance in two steps, dropping to his knees in front of you without caring who might see.

“I’m so sorry,” he said immediately, bowing his head. “I should never have raised my voice. I scared you, and that’s the last thing I ever want to do.”

You shook your head. “I know you didn’t mean-“

“I did,” he interrupted softly. “But that’s not an excuse.”

He gently took your uninjured hand, holding it like something precious. “I would rather starve than ever hurt you,” he said shakily. “And the fact that I almost did - ”

Ni-ki’s breath faltered, silence enveloping the both of them.

You swallowed. “I just didn’t want to make it harder for you.”

He pressed his forehead to your knee, breathing you in like an anchor. “You are never the problem,” he murmured. “Never.”

Carefully, he lifted your bandaged finger, kissing your knuckles instead. A promise. Control.

You smiled through the ache in your chest. “Come home with me?”

He nodded instantly. “Always.”

This time, when you walked back together, he never let go of your hand.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this small oneshot as it’s my second piece! I might write some more since I’m in flowstate right now 🙏 Hopefully my writings getting better too!

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wonton88

Things I Didn’t Ask

Pairing: student!Ni-ki x student!reader

Genre: Angst, jealousy, hurt/comfort, romance, school AU, Zhang Hao (ZB1) mentioned

Synopsis: When a gentle foreign exchange student begins sitting beside you in class, Ni-ki mistakes his own emotional distance for loyalty - and jealousy quietly rots where communication should’ve been.

Word Count: ~3.2k+

A/N: Hai!! I’m sorry I have been so inactive!! There was a lot happening these past few days and I actually went to see the Stray Kids DominATE in theaters! If you would like to see pictures, I’m more than happy to share! Anyways, here is the fic! It’s a rare one because NIKI IS IN SCHOOL!! 🙀 (Also, cookies and cream is my favorite sooo the picture is making me hungry~)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Ni-ki’s shoulder has always been yours.

Not officially. Not something either of you ever talked about. Just - natural. You sit beside him, legs angled toward his, snack bag crinkling softly between you as you lean your head there like it belongs.

And it does.

He doesn’t move when you settle in. Doesn’t stiffen. Just tilts his head a fraction so it’s easier for you, eyes still on his phone.

“You’re gonna get crumbs on me,” he mutters.

You grin, nuzzling your head more into his neck. “You love me.”

He scoffs, but his arm shifts, elbow pressing lightly against your side - protective, habitual. Like a silent stay.

This is how it’s always been.

♡

The teacher clears her throat at the front of the classroom.

“We have a new student joining us today. He’s a foreign exchange student from China, so please be welcoming.”

The boy beside her bows politely.

“My name is Zhang Hao,” he says, accent gentle, careful. “Nice to meet you.”

There’s murmured hellos. Curiosity.

Whispering.

Then the teacher scans the room.

“There’s an empty seat…ah. Next to you.”

She gestures - directly at you.

Ni-ki’s head snaps up.

Zhang Hao follows her gaze and smiles softly, walking down the aisle until he stops at your desk.

“Hi,” he says quietly, almost apprehensively. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah - yeah, of course,” you answer, scooting your chair slightly to make space.

He sits.

Ni-ki tells himself it’s nothing.

♡

Zhang Hao struggles through the lesson.

Not loudly. Not disruptively. Just…pauses, brows knitting together when the teacher speaks too fast. When unfamiliar words pile up.

You notice.

You always notice.

So you lean closer and whisper explanations in Chinese under your breath - simple, quick translations. He brightens every time, nodding, scribbling notes with renewed confidence.

“谢谢,” he mouths once. (Thank you.)

You smile.

Ni-ki sees it.

His jaw tightens, just a little.

She’s just helping, he thinks. She’d do that for anyone.

Still - when you don’t lean on his shoulder that day, he notices the absence like a bruise.

♡

It starts small.

Zhang Hao waits for you after class, polite and hesitant. “Can I ask you something?” he says. “I don’t understand the homework.”

You sit with him in the library. Then again the next day.

He listens when you talk. Like - really listens. Doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t tease. Just nods and asks thoughtful questions.

When you yawn, exhausted, he gently slides his jacket toward you.

“You look tired,” he says. “You can use this.”

Ni-ki watches from across the room.

Zhang Hao’s voice is soft. His movements careful. When you thank him, he smiles like it means something.

Ni-ki’s chest twists.

I would’ve told her to just sleep more, he thinks.

I would’ve said she’s fine.

Why does that suddenly feel…insufficient?

♡

Ni-ki replies slower now.

“Busy” replaces paragraphs.

“Later” replaces teasing voice notes.

You don’t call him out on it. You just get quieter.

Zhang Hao notices.

“Are you okay?” he asks one afternoon, concern immediate.

You hesitate. Shrug. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He doesn’t push - but when you lean forward, shoulders sagging, he gently pulls you into a hug.

It’s not dramatic. Not tight.

Just…warm.

Safe.

Ni-ki sees it.

The way Zhang Hao’s hand rests lightly between your shoulders. The way you don’t pull away.

Something sharp flares in his chest.

Jealousy - but not the explosive kind.

The slow, poisonous kind that whispers:

He’s gentler than you.

He sees her differently.

What if she needs that more?

Ni-ki doesn’t realize his fists are clenched until his nails bite into his palms.

♡

You break.

It’s after school. The hallway is quiet. Zhang Hao is explaining something - then stops mid-sentence when he sees your eyes fill.

“Hey,” he says softly, switching to Chinese without thinking.

“你还好吗？” (Are you okay?)

The words undo you.

You shake your head, tears spilling. “我不知道我做错了什么…” (I don’t know what I did wrong…)

Zhang Hao panics a little, stepping closer.

He hugs you again - instinctive, protective.

“I’m here,” he murmurs.

Ni-ki rounds the corner.

He freezes.

He doesn’t understand the words. Just the image. You crying. Zhang Hao holding you.

Then Zhang Hao says - quietly, in English-

“If he’s hurting you… you deserve better.”

Ni-ki’s stomach drops.

He turns away before either of you notice him.

And for the first time, the jealousy isn’t loud.

It’s hollow.

Because deep down, a thought keeps repeating, cruel and clear:

What if he is talking about me?

…what if he’s right?

♡

Ni-ki doesn’t go home right away.

He sits on the stairs by the gym, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor until it blurs.

His phone is heavy in his hand. Your contact name sits at the top of his screen, untouched.

If he’s hurting you…you deserve better.

The words loop.

Hurting her.

Deserve better.

He scoffs quietly, rubbing at his face. “I didn’t-“ he mutters to no one. “I didn’t do anything.”

But that’s the problem, isn’t it?

He thinks of all the times he brushed off your bad days with a shrug.

All the times he said you’re fine instead of are you okay?

All the times he stood beside you instead of actually looking at you.

Zhang Hao held you while you cried.

Ni-ki clenches his jaw.

Since when does she cry where I can’t see?

♡

You’re packing your backpack when Ni-ki finally corners you.

“Hey,” he says, a little too sharp. “Why are you always with him lately?”

You blink. “What?”

“With Zhang Hao,” he says. “You’re always helping him. Always talking to him.”

You stare at him for a second - then laugh once, breathless.

“Is that what this is?” you ask quietly. “Jealousy?”

“I’m just asking,” he snaps. “You don’t even hang out with me anymore.”

Something in your face closes.

“At least he asks if I’m okay.”

The words land harder than a shove.

Ni-ki goes still.

“What?”

You sling your bag over your shoulder, voice shaking now. “He notices when I’m tired. When I’m quiet. He doesn’t just assume I’ll deal with it.”

“That’s not-“ Ni-ki starts.

You step back. “I didn’t say he was better. I said he cares enough to ask.”

You walk past him before he can answer.

Ni-ki stands there, hollowed out.

♡

You don’t get far before the tears come back.

You duck outside, sitting on the steps, hugging your knees. Zhang Hao spots you a minute later and hesitates - then approaches slowly.

“你还好吗？” he asks gently. (Are you okay?)

You shake your head. “我好累。” (I’m so tired.)

He sits beside you, not touching. Just there.

“你不用一个人撑着,” he says quietly. (You don’t have to hold everything alone.)

You cover your face. “我不想失去他…但我也不想一直觉得自己不重要。” (I don’t want to lose him…but I don’t want to feel unimportant all the time.)

Zhang Hao nods, understanding heavy in his eyes.

“You deserve to feel chosen,” he says - in Chinese this time, softer than before.

“你值得被珍惜。” (You deserve to be cherished.)

♡

Ni-ki finds Zhang Hao in the library.

“I know you don’t owe me anything,” Ni-ki says stiffly. “But…are you trying to take her from me?”

Zhang Hao looks startled - then serious.

“No,” he answers immediately. “I like her. But I would never hurt her.”

Ni-ki swallows.

“She cries,” Zhang Hao continues carefully. “And when she does, she thinks it’s her fault. That worries me.”

That’s it.

That’s the nail in the chest.

Ni-ki bows his head. “Thank you for taking care of her,” he says quietly. “I should’ve done that.”

♡

Ni-ki waits until you’re alone.

“I don’t own you,” he says, voice low and unsteady. “I know that. I just-“ He exhales. “I got scared. And instead of dealing with it, I pulled away.”

You don’t answer.

“I was jealous because he’s gentle,” Ni-ki admits. “And I thought being protective was enough.”

He looks at you then, really looks.

“I see now that it wasn’t.”

Silence stretches.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me right away,” he adds. “I just want to be better. For you.”

♡

Weeks Later

Ni-ki doesn’t rush you.

He doesn’t crowd you with apologies or ask “have you forgiven me yet?” like it’s something he can earn in a day.

Instead - he shows up.

It starts small.

A text every morning.

“good morning baby 🤍 did you sleep okay?”

Sometimes you don’t answer right away.

He never double texts.

On your desk at school, you find snacks you like. Always your favorites. Always neatly placed. Never a big show.

Sticky notes appear.

Don’t skip lunch.

You looked pretty today. Like everyday.

I’m proud of you.

You keep every single one.

He waits for you after class without complaint. Walks you home even when it’s out of his way. When you’re quiet, he doesn’t try to fix it - just stays.

When you lean into him again, even just a little, his breath always stutters like he’s afraid to take too much.

Trust rebuilds slowly.

Brick by brick.

♡

It’s a Saturday when you go to his house.

Not planned. Not dramatic. Just…natural.

You ring the doorbell.

It opens almost immediately.

Ni-ki stands there barefoot, hair messy, wearing the hoodie you like. His eyes widen when he sees you - like he wasn’t sure you’d ever show up like this again.

He’s holding something.

Your stuffed animal.

The one you gave him forever ago. The one he sleeps with when you’re not there.

He freezes, embarrassed.

“I - uh,” he starts.

You don’t let him finish.

You step forward and wrap your arms around him, hands caressing the back of his head.

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for weeks.

His arms come around you slowly, carefully - then tighter when you don’t pull away.

“I forgive you,” you murmur into his chest.

His hands shake.

“I promise,” he whispers, voice thick, “I’ll keep choosing you. Every day.”

You nod, pressing your face into his hoodie.

The silence stretched for a while before you broke it.

“…take me inside…please…it’s cold,” you say softly.

He immediately does, getting you one of his hoodies when you step in.

♡

You end up on his bed, tangled together.

You curl against his chest, his arm around you like it’s exactly where it belongs. He presses a kiss to your hair, gentle. Reverent.

Safe.

The jealousy is gone now.

All that’s left is warmth.

And the quiet certainty that this time -

he knows how to hold you.

♡

EPILOGUE

You’re sitting on the steps outside the school when Zhang Hao joins you, backpack slipping off one shoulder.

“今天真的好累,” you sigh in Chinese, stretching your legs out. (Today was really exhausting.)

He laughs quietly. “你总是这么说.”(You always say that.)

“I mean it today,” you insist. “考试、练习、还有你- 一直问我数学问题.”(Exams, practice, and you—constantly asking me math questions.)

He grins. “那是因为你讲得最好.”(That’s because you explain it the best.)

You’re mid-eye roll when arms slide around your waist from behind.

Warm. Familiar.

Ni-ki.

He presses his chin briefly to your shoulder and places a snack into your hands like it’s second nature.

“Eat,” he murmurs. “You skipped lunch again.”

Your face lights up immediately.

“You remembered,” you say, already tearing it open.

“Of course I did,” he replies, sitting down beside you without letting go - one arm still snug around your waist. He leans in and kisses your temple softly, like it’s habit now.

Zhang Hao watches the interaction with a small, knowing smile.

“你们两个看起来很好,” he says gently. (You two look really good together.)

You glance at Ni-ki. He squeezes your waist, thumb brushing slow, grounding circles.

“We’re okay now,” you say.

Zhang Hao nods. Then, after a beat, he adds - quiet, sincere-

“他学会怎么爱你了. (He learned how to love you.)

Ni-ki doesn’t understand the words.

But he understands the smile you give him.

And that’s enough.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

A/N: I feel like this was a pretty lovely one! It’s my first time having another character that isn’t in ENHYPEN but I think this worked well!!

wonton88

hi!! i dont know if ur taking requests but im really craving a yearning enha fic… where any member & yn are arguing and then yn suggests breakup and they yearn and beg to not break up with them, its strong and messy and just YEARNING, only if u want to do this!!

I’m Listening Now

Pairing: idol!Jake x reader

Genre: Hurt/comfort, HEAVY YEARNING, angst, emotional, idol AU, slow reconciliation

Synopsis: When Jake keeps brushing off serious conversations with smiles and jokes, what he thinks is “keeping things light” slowly makes you feel unheard and small. After one intense argument, it forces Jake to sit with the weight he’s always avoided.

Word Count: ~5.5k+

A/N: Haiii!! I saw this request come in and I was really excited!! This is a really good storyline and I haven’t done a request in a while so I really hope you guys enjoy!! Also, I chose to do Jake because he doesn’t have as many fics on my page!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Jake doesn’t realize he does it.

That’s the worst part.

The first time you try to talk to him about it, you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, twisting your fingers together while he’s scrolling on his phone.

“Can we talk about something?” you ask carefully.

He glances up and smiles immediately. That easy, sunshine smile that makes everything feel lighter.

“Uh-oh. That sounds serious.”

You give a small laugh. “It is. Kind of.”

He scoots closer, nudging your knee with his. “You’re not about to tell me you secretly hate living with me, right?”

You hesitate.

Just enough.

He doesn’t notice.

You swallow. “No. I just… I feel like we haven’t really been talking lately. Like actually talking.”

He chuckles softly. “We talk all the time.”

“I mean like-“ you try again. “Deeper than just schedules and what we’re eating.”

He smiles again. Ruffles your hair.

“You’re overthinking.”

The conversation ends there.

Not because you’re satisfied.

But because he makes it sound so small.

♡

The second time is after he forgets something important.

Not a birthday. Not something dramatic.

Just a promise.

You’d asked him to come home early one night because you’d had a rough day. He agreed.

He came home two hours late, laughing about something that happened at practice.

You’re quiet while he talks.

Eventually you say, “I waited.”

He frowns. “Waited?”

“You said you’d come home early.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Practice ran long. You know how it is.”

“I know,” you say softly. “But you could’ve told me.”

He smiles again, that same smile.

“Why are you looking at me like I committed a crime?”

You stare at him.

“I’m not.”

He wraps his arms around you from behind, and kisses your head.

“Don’t be upset, okay? It’s not that deep.”

Not that deep.

It echoes.

♡

The third time is smaller.

You’re sitting on the couch, telling him about something that’s been weighing on you for weeks. Something vulnerable. Something that scares you.

He listens.

But halfway through, he laughs awkwardly.

“Why do you always think the worst-case scenario is going to happen?”

Your chest tightens.

“I’m not thinking the worst-case. I’m just telling you how I feel.”

“You always make things sound so dramatic,” he says lightly. “It’s cute.”

Cute.

You don’t feel cute.

You feel unheard.

♡

By the time the argument finally happens, it isn’t explosive at first.

It’s quiet.

You’re in the kitchen.

He’s rinsing a glass.

You say, carefully, “Can we talk?”

He stiffens slightly.

“…About?”

“Us.”

He laughs nervously. “That tone…why does it sound like we’re in a drama?”

You don’t smile this time.

He notices.

“Okay,” he says, defensive edge creeping in.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t feel like you take me seriously.”

He blinks.

“What?”

“When I tell you something bothers me, you laugh. Or you say I’m overthinking. Or that it’s not that deep.”

He sets the glass down a little too hard.

“I don’t say that.”

“Yes, you do.”

He exhales sharply. “I just don’t like making small things into big problems.”

“It’s not small to me.”

“And why does it always have to be this heavy?” he says, voice rising slightly. “Why do you always make things so serious?”

There it is.

The line.

Silence falls like something breaking.

You stare at him.

Because that’s the pattern, isn’t it?

Every time you try to open up, he makes it smaller.

You swallow.

“Because it is serious to me, baby.”

He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I just don’t get why we can’t just be happy.”

“We can’t be happy if I feel like I’m talking to a wall.”

“That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair,” you say, voice shaking now, “is that this keeps happening.”

He goes still.

“What keeps happening?”

“You dismiss me.”

“I do not dismiss you.”

“You do.”

“You’re twisting it-”

“I am not twisting it!” Your voice cracks. “You laugh every time I try to be vulnerable. You make it sound like I’m dramatic for having feelings.”

He shakes his head. “I’m trying to keep things light.”

“Why?” you whisper.

“Because I don’t want everything to feel heavy all the time!”

And then it happens.

The worst part.

He says it again, louder this time.

“Why do you always make things so serious?”

The words land harder this time.

You don’t yell back.

You just…withdraw.

Your shoulders drop.

Your face changes.

And that scares him instantly.

“If loving me feels heavy,” you say quietly, “maybe you shouldn’t.”

His breath stutters.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It sounds like it.”

“You’re twisting-”

“I’m not twisting anything.” Your voice is calm now, slower paced then before. Too calm. “I’m tired, Jake.”

He feels it.

The shift.

The “Jake” instead of baby.

Not anger.

Distance.

“Don’t do that,” he says, stepping closer.

“Do what?”

“Don’t shut down.”

“I’m not shutting down. I’m protecting myself.”

His hands start shaking.

“From me?”

You nod.

And that is what breaks him.

“Maybe we need space,” you say softly.

“No.”

It comes out immediately.

Panicked.

“No, don’t say that.”

You walk past him toward the bedroom.

He follows.

“What does that even mean? Space for what?”

You pull a small bag from the closet.

His stomach drops.

“You’re not packing.”

“I think we both need time to think.”

“Think about what?” His voice cracks.

“We’re fine.”

“We’re not.”

He grabs your wrist gently.

“Please.”

You look at him.

And he sees it.

You’re already halfway gone.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he whispers.

“But you said it,” you reply.

You zip the bag.

“I can’t keep shrinking my feelings to make you comfortable.”

He starts crying before he realizes he is.

“I’ll fix it,” he says desperately. “I swear I will. I didn’t mean to make you feel small. I didn’t know-”

“That’s the problem,” you say softly. “You didn’t know. Because you didn’t listen.”

You step toward the door.

He feels like he can’t breathe.

“Don’t leave,” he chokes.

“I need to.”

And then you’re gone.

♡

The door clicks shut.

And Jake stands there.

Waiting.

Because part of him expects you to come back in.

To say you forgot something.

To say you changed your mind.

The silence stretches.

Nothing happens.

The air feels wrong.

He walks to the door slowly. Opens it.

The hallway is empty.

That’s when it hits.

She actually left.

His knees almost give out.

He shuts the door gently this time, like being loud might make it more real.

Your shoes are gone.

Your charger isn’t plugged in.

Your toothbrush is missing.

He presses his hand against his mouth and lets out a broken sound he doesn’t

recognize as his own.

The apartment doesn’t feel like home.

It feels like a place he messed up in.

He walks into the bedroom.

Your side of the bed is untouched.

He sits on it carefully.

Like it might disappear.

And that’s when the spiraling really starts.

Why did I say that?

Why couldn’t I just listen?

Why did I laugh?

He replays every single time you tried to talk to him.

Every smile.

Every “it’s not that deep.”

Every “you’re overthinking.”

And now he hears it differently.

Dismissive.

Cold.

He grabs his phone.

Types:

“I’m sorry. Please come back.”

Deletes it.

Types:

“ I didn’t mean it. I love you.”

Deletes it.

Types:

“Can we talk?”

Deletes it.

Because he knows.

If he reaches out right now, it’ll be to make himself feel better.

Not you.

So instead, he curls up on your side of the bed.

And for the first time in a long time—

He doesn’t try to distract himself from the heaviness.

He lets it sit on his chest.

And it hurts.

♡

The apartment feels too quiet.

The fight replays over and over.

Why do you always make things so serious?

He hears it the way you must have heard it.

Like: Why are your feelings so inconvenient?

He puts his arm over his eyes.

And for the first time, there’s no smile to hide behind.

No joke.

No deflection.

Just him.

And the realization that every time you tried to open your heart, he laughed.

Because he was scared.

Because he didn’t know how to sit with discomfort.

Because he thought love was supposed to be easy.

He whispers into the empty room,

“I made her feel small.”

And it destroys him.

♡

Days pass.

Jake stops sleeping properly.

He still goes to work.

Still smiles.

Still laughs when people expect him to.

But it feels fake now.

Because the one person he was supposed to be real with-

He pushed away.

At night, he stares at his phone.

Your chat pinned at the top.

Profile picture of you kissing his cheek.

He rereads old messages.

The ones where you were excited.

The ones where you said “I love you” first.

He plays your voice notes just to hear you say his name.

He keeps thinking about that moment in the kitchen.

The way your voice changed.

The way you said, “I’m tired.”

Not angry.

Not yelling.

Just tired.

And that breaks him more than anything else.

One night he ends up sitting on the kitchen floor again.

Back against the cabinet.

Whispering to himself,

“She was just asking me to listen.”

He presses his palms into his eyes.

“I couldn’t even do that.”

He isn’t crying dramatically.

It’s quiet.

Constant.

Like guilt leaking out of him slowly.

♡

He doesn’t text paragraphs.

He doesn’t beg.

He sends one message:

“I’m listening now.”

A bit ominous, you think. But, you don’t reply.

Weeks go by.

You eventually move back in - not because everything is fixed, but because you agreed to try.

But it’s different.

You’re polite.

Kind.

Distant.

You sleep on the far edge of the bed.

Not touching him.

Jake lies perfectly still.

Terrified that if he moves even an inch, you’ll pull away further.

He wants to reach for you so badly it physically aches.

But he doesn’t.

Because he remembers.

You said you felt small.

So he gives you space.

Even though it feels like suffocating.

Some nights he turns his face toward you and just…looks.

At the outline of your shoulder.

At the way your breathing evens out.

He whispers apologies into the dark.

Not loud enough for you to hear.

Just loud enough for him to feel them.

You don’t initiate deep talks anymore.

And that hurts more than when you left.

Jake doesn’t joke when you talk now.

He doesn’t interrupt.

When you say something bothers you, he sits.

Even when it’s uncomfortable.

Even when it makes his chest tight.

He nods.

“I understand.”

He starts asking, “Would you like my advice or would you rather I listen?”

He catches himself when he almost laughs.

He says, “That makes sense.”

Every day, he chooses differently.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Just consistently.

♡

A week after you move back in, something small happens.

You drop a glass in the kitchen.

It shatters.

You flinch.

He’s there immediately.

Not dramatic.

Not panicked.

Just steady.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly.

You nod.

But your hands are shaking.

He kneels down carefully, picking up the pieces.

And he says it without looking at you,

“I used to think if I kept things light, nothing could break.”

His voice is quiet.

“I didn’t realize I was the one breaking things.”

Your throat tightens.

He finally looks up at you.

Eyes red.

Not from crying now.

From holding it in for weeks.

“I miss you,” he finally says.

Not “I miss us.”

Not “I miss when things were good.”

Just-

“I miss you.”

It isn’t dramatic.

It isn’t begging.

It’s worse.

It’s honest.

And you can see it.

The guilt never left.

The effort never stopped.

He’s not trying to win you back loudly.

He’s trying to deserve you quietly.

And that’s when something in you starts to thaw.

♡

Jake doesn’t realize you’re there.

He’s sitting in the practice room long after everyone else has left, phone facedown on the floor, elbows on his knees.

Heeseung sits beside him, quiet.

“I didn’t think I was hurting her,” Jake says, voice breaking halfway through the sentence. “I really didn’t.”

He laughs once, hollow. “I thought I was being easy to love.”

Heeseung doesn’t interrupt.

Jake wipes at his face angrily. “She was asking me to listen. That’s it. And I kept acting like her feelings were…an inconvenience.”

His shoulders start shaking before he can stop it.

“I made her feel small,” he whispers. “And I don’t know how to forgive myself for that.”

He presses his palms into his eyes, breathing uneven.

“I don’t need her to come back,” he adds quietly. “I just need her to know I finally hear her.”

From the hallway, you freeze.

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop.

But hearing him say it - without you there, without needing anything-

It stays with you.

♡

One night, you’re sitting on the couch.

You tell him about something that upset you at work.

You wait.

Out of habit.

For the smile.

The joke.

It doesn’t come.

He just says softly, “That sounds really frustrating.”

Your throat tightens.

“And?”

“And…I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

Silence.

“You’re not going to say I’m overthinking?”

“No.”

He swallows.

“I don’t ever want to make you feel like your feelings are too much again.”

Your eyes sting.

He continues quietly,

“I wasn’t trying to make you small. I was just scared of sitting in hard things. But that’s not your fault. That’s mine. Entirely.”

You look at him fully for the first time in weeks.

“And?”

“And I love you so much. Even when things are serious.”

The room feels different.

Safer.

You shift closer.

Just slightly.

And Jake doesn’t rush it.

He just stays.

Present.

Listening.

Waiting.

And when you finally lean your head against his shoulder again-

It feels earned.

Not because he begged.

But because he learned.

♡

It’s late.

The room is dark except for the streetlight bleeding softly through the curtains.

You turn in bed and press closer to him - just instinct, just warmth.

Jake stiffens.

Then his breath hitches.

He tries to stay quiet.

He fails.

His shoulders shake, face turning into your hair as silent tears soak into your shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, over and over, like it’s a reflex. “I’m so sorry.”

You don’t say anything at first.

You just wrap your arms around him.

Hold him.

Let him cry it out without fixing it, without rushing him, without making it lighter than it is.

His grip tightens, like he’s terrified you’ll disappear again.

“I’ve got you,” you murmur finally.

He breaks at that - soft, exhausted sobs - and clings to you like he’s been holding himself together for weeks and finally doesn’t have to anymore.

This time, you stay.

And this time-

He listens.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

A/N: AGHAGAHA I hope you guys enjoyed this!!! It was super fun to write but honestly it’s a little sad… ☹️ Regardless, to whoever requested this, I hope it fit your vision and there was enough yearning 😉! 🤍🤍🤍

sundives

Keep my heart guarded ✶ lhs.

Summary: Your long-term relationship with your bodyguard-slash-personal assistant Lee Heeseung goes way back in high school. Ever since then, he keeps your heart guarded and humbled in every possible way since your makeup line started to rise into fame. But when a dating scandal tied you with your brand's ambassador, leading to a PR stunt that will last for two years, that's when you realized that your relationship with Heeseung was starting to crumble because of the fortune and popularity.

Fourth installment of Big reputations series.

✰ Song inspirations: King of my heart by Taylor Swift, National Anthem by Lana del rey, Midnight Rain by Taylor Swift

✰ Word count: 22.7k

✰ Tags: CEO au, bodyguard/assistant au, established relationship, secret relationships, aged-up characters (they’re both in their early 30s) relationship conflicts, jealousy, ANGST, mild fluff ig, smut!!! misunderstandings, rumors, breakups (and getting back together,) heeseung is such a green flag and down bad (fuck yesss), usage of korean honorifics. mentions of kpop idols.

✰ CW: plot with porn, smut, service dom! Heeseung, p in v sex, unprotected sex (pls dont), cumming inside, bathtub sex, praise, petnames, riding, fingering, kinda breeding kink, idk what else to tag but this is just soft shitty smut and they’re very much in love.

✰ Asul's note: FUCK YES ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP WITH CONFLICTS, one of my favorite tropes to write. After almost two months I was able to finish this one, thank god. Anyways, I eyeballed everything so don’t come after me and yeah, buckle up because this is going to be a long-ass ride. Not proofread by the way.

✰ Series taglist: @kyutiepeachy @rosepetals09 @toastmenace @k1ttyjwon @kikidoul @brokenengene @tatikeu @ddeondalandan @ellyre @addictedtohobi @fancypeacepersona @heeseungsgf26 @axfyl @dollvtte @saraabbas @meloncholatte

heeseung64

OH WORD?

new apartment, same plug.

plug riki agenda. acquaintances to friends to cute lovers! comedy. fluff. yurrrp

irkkii

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝐋𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 ★⠀DROP⠀ . . .⠀ 𝗂 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝘁 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗰𝗿𝗮𝘇𝘆

⠀⠀⠀‎ ‎⠀𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝗂𝗄𝗂 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗎𝗉 ’𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗋𝗂𝗌𝖾.

⠀⠀‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ❛ 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐖𝐀𝐕𝐄 ｡｡‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎｡ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ⠀‎‎‎‎‎ꈍ ᴗ ꈍ⠀⠀‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ 𝓷𝗂𝗄𝗂 x 𝑓!rea ⠀⠀smut⠀𝗺𝗱𝗻𝗶 ⠀roommates⠀𝗵𝗼𝘁 summer ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ‎1OOO‎‎‎‎‎‎ ⠀／⠀❪ 記録 ❫

❥‎ ‎ ‎ ‎this song is stuck in my headdd⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎feedback&reblogs ⠀⠀⠀完璧⠀ ´ ◜ᴗ◝

the apartment feels like someone left the oven on. it's that dead part of the afternoon where even the sun seems tired, just bleeding orange through the blinds. the fan on the floor is doing absolutely nothing except making noise, pushing hot air in sad little circles.

you're flat on your bed in denim shorts and a tank top that keeps riding up. there's a hair tie around your wrist and your phone's somewhere in the sheets, but you're too hot to care about finding it.

"this is actual hell," riki says from his bed across the room. he's been scrolling through his phone for the past twenty minutes, but you can feel when his attention shifts to you.

"your fan's broken."

"it's not broken, it's just shit." he sits up, and his shirt peels away from his back with a gross sound that makes you both laugh. "fuck this," he mutters, and pulls it off.

you look. obviously you look. the light's hitting him in that specific late-afternoon way that makes everyone look like they're in a music video, and riki's got that thing where he's lean but you can see the muscle when he moves. he catches you staring and raises an eyebrow.

"what?"

"nothing." you look up at the ceiling.

"you were looking."

"you literally just took your shirt off in front of me. where else am i gonna look?"

he laughs, gets up and walks over to the fan. "fair." he crouches down to mess with the settings like that's going to suddenly fix it, and you can see the way his shoulders move, the dip of his spine. when did you start noticing shit like that?

"still looking," he says without turning around.

"oh my god, shut up."

"just saying." he stands up, gives up on the fan, and turns around. he's closer now, just a few feet from your bed. "you've been weird all day."

"i'm not weird. i'm hot."

"yeah, you are."

it takes a second for that to land. when it does, your face gets even hotter. "that's not—you know what i meant."

"i know what you meant." he's got this look on his face that's not quite a smirk, something more direct than that. his thumbs hook into his waistband. "still hot though."

your brain short-circuits a little as he pushes his shorts down, kicks them off to the side. he's in boxers, the dark blue ones, and he's just standing there like this is normal. maybe it is normal. you've been roommates for months.

"what are you doing?"

"it's like a hundred degrees. what does it look like i'm doing?"

you don't have an answer for that. he takes another step closer and you can smell his deodorant, something cedar and clean, mixed with sweat.

"you gonna tell me to stop?" his voice is lower now, and he's right at the edge of your bed.

you shake your head.

"words?"

"don't stop."

he moves fast after that. one second he's standing, the next he's over you, knee pressed between your legs, and you can feel how hard he is already through his boxers, pressing against your thigh. his hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up, and when he kisses you it's all tongue and teeth, messy and hungry. you can taste the salt on his lips, feel the way he's breathing hard already.

your hands are in his hair, pulling him closer, and he groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through your chest. his knee grinds up between your legs and the pressure makes you gasp, your hips rolling against him without thinking.

"fuck," he mutters against your lips, pulling back just enough to yank your tank top over your head. he smirks when he sees you're not wearing a bra, and he doesn't waste time—his mouth is on your neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks, then lower to your collarbone, your breast. when his tongue circles your nipple you arch up into him, and he uses his teeth just enough to make you whimper.

his hand slides down your stomach, popping the button of your shorts.

he gets your shorts and underwear off in one go, and then his hand is between your legs and you're already so wet it's embarrassing. his fingers slide through it, spreading it around, and he makes this sound—half-laugh, half-groan.

"shit, you're soaked." he brings his fingers up and you can see them glistening.

"shut up," you breathe, but it comes out shaky.

"been thinking about this, haven't you?" he pushes two fingers inside you without warning and your back arches off the bed, a broken moan tearing from your throat. "fuck, you're tight."

he's not gentle about it. his fingers curl and thrust, finding that spot inside you that makes your thighs shake, and his thumb presses circles on your clit that are almost too much. you can hear how wet you are, the obscene sound of his fingers working in and out of you, and it should be mortifying but it just makes you wetter.

"riki, fuck, i—"

"i know, i've got you. gonna make you come on my fingers first." he leans down, his breath hot against your ear. "wanna feel how tight you get when you come. "

his words send heat straight through you, and combined with what his hand is doing, you're already close. he adds a third finger and the stretch makes you gasp, your hand flying out to grip his wrist. but you're not pushing him away—you're holding him there, grinding against his hand.

"that's it, fuck yourself on my fingers," he says, and his voice is wrecked. "look at you. so fucking pretty like this."

it builds fast, that coiling tension in your stomach, and when he curls his fingers just right and presses down hard on your clit, you come with a cry that's probably too loud for the thin walls. your pussy clenches around his fingers, pulsing, and he works you through it, drawing it out until you're shaking and oversensitive.

he pulls his hand away and you watch, dazed, as he brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean, his eyes locked on yours. "taste so good," he mutters, and then he's shoving his boxers down.

his cock springs free, hard and flushed at the tip, already leaking. he's bigger than you expected, thick enough that you clench just looking at it. he wraps his hand around himself, stroking once, twice, and you can see the way his stomach muscles tense.

he pushes in and the words die in your throat. the stretch is intense, almost too much, and he's only halfway in. he stops, breathing hard, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"fuckk, you're so fucking tight," he grits out. "relax for me."

you try, breathing through it, and he pushes in further, inch by inch, until he's fully seated inside you. you feel so full you can barely breathe, stretched around him, and when he shifts slightly you both groan.

"move," you manage to say. "please ki."

he pulls out almost all the way and slams back in, and the sound you make is inhuman. he sets a brutal pace, deep and hard, and every thrust punches the air from your lungs. the angle has him hitting that spot inside you with every stroke, and you can feel yourself getting wetter.

"so good," he's muttering, half to himself. "so fucking good, taking me so well. feel how deep i am?"

you can. you can feel him everywhere, filling you completely, and when you look down you can see the way his cock disappears inside you, slick and shining when he pulls out. the sight makes you clench around him and he curses.

his hips snap against yours, one hand gripping your thigh so hard you know there'll be bruises, the other braced by your head. the bed frame is slamming against the wall and the fan's still whirring uselessly and you can hear everything—the slap of skin, how wet you are, the way you're both panting.

you're so sensitive, still wound tight from the first orgasm, and it builds fast. he's watching where you're joined, watching his cock slide in and out of you, and his expression is almost feral.

"fuck, i'm close," he grits out. "where—"

"inside," you gasp.

that does it. his rhythm falters, becomes erratic, and when your orgasm hits it's devastating. you clench around him, pulsing, and you feel the moment he loses it—his hips stuttering, pressing deep as he comes, filling you. you can feel the warmth of it, the way his cock pulses inside you, and it prolongs your own orgasm until you're both shaking and spent.

he collapses half on top of you, both of you sticky and breathing hard. after a minute he rolls off, starfishes on his back next to you.

"sooo," he says, still catching his breath. "that happened."

you turn your head to look at him his hair's a mess.

"yeah."

"we gonna talk about it or..."

"later," you say. "when it's not a thousand degrees and i can think."

•18+ Adults Only

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liuhsng

✩ˎˊ˗ always been yours ( nk ! ) — part 2

✩ˎˊ˗ part of the untouchable series | enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — ni-ki x fem!reader

⤷ part 1 | part 2 ⤷ word count — 20.8k ⤷ taglist for the series — open !

⤷ warnings — a/b/o au, alpha!ni-ki, omega!reader, fem!reader, foul language, arranged marriage au, childhood friends to lovers trope, intense possessive alpha!ni-ki, minor physical violence, bullying and emotional manipulation (not from ni-ki !), emotionally charged confessions, ni-ki’s down bad and whipped, tooth-rotting fluff, angst with comfort

⤷ a/n — and just like that, the untouchable enhypen omegaverse series officially comes to an end 🥹💌 i’m honestly so overwhelmed with emotion even writing this—this series has been such a huge part of my heart, and finishing ni-ki’s part felt like closing the final chapter of something really personal and special. thank you to every single person who read, commented, screamed in the tags, and supported this chaotic, emotional ride from start to finish.

✩ˎˊ˗ summary — with your return, nishimura riki has never been happier—his walls lowered, his touch softer, his heart finally full. but when news of your sudden closeness spreads like wildfire, it doesn’t just confirm your bond—it invites the storm. omegas glare. alphas don’t take the hint. he tries to stay calm, but patience runs thin when the world refuses to understand that you were never up for grabs. so he makes a decision. no more whispers. no more pretending. he’s going to show everyone—loud and clear—that you’re his, and that ring on your finger? it’s not a rumor. it’s a promise.

heesmiles

OPERATION: HOW NOT TO GET THE GIRL L.HS

SYNOPSIS ⦂ You've never fit in. That much was true. Always feeling like the odd one out in your friend group. But when you're told to your face, well everything becomes more clear. Suddenly, every sidelong glance, every pity laugh, every party invitation that felt like a mistake, makes a little more sense. But it still stings. Especially when it comes to Soobin; sweet, soft-spoken, out-of-your-league Soobin, who doesn’t even know you exist beyond the orbit of your prettier friends. Enter Heeseung: campus golden boy, effortlessly charming, dangerously smug. He’s the type of guy who knows exactly how attractive he is — and how to use it. When he overhears your predicament (okay, maybe you yell about it a little too loudly in the hallway), he makes you an offer: he’ll help you reinvent yourself, rewrite your story, and finally get Soobin’s attention. In exchange? You’ll tutor him through senior lit, a class he's on the verge of flunking. You agree, of course. What could possibly go wrong?

PAIRINGS: heeseung x fem!reader

WARNINGS: smut mdni, virginity loss, jealousy, alcohol use, mean girls, talk of toxic beauty standards, college setting, ft Dani (katseye), Sakura (le sserafim), Soobin (txt), jay, sunghoon, jake, beomgyu (txt), wonyoung (ive), angst, slight miscommunication + more i’m probably forgetting.

WORD COUNT: 28K

RAIN'S MIC IS ON ࿐ haiii this is based on the movie "the duff" i wanted to give this a fun and very like early 2000s rom-comy vibes!! I do want to note especially that i do not support the toxic mindset that makeup and no glasses and dressing slutty automatically makes you more visually appealing, i think that's a mindset we should be letting go of but for the sake of fiction, it will be playing a part in this. Just a reminder that everyone is beautiful no matter what you wear or what you look like. Wear makeup if you want, or don't. Glasses do not equal ugly and nerdy. Also in this, i shortened “DUFF” to “DUF” because even in fiction i don’t feel comfortable saying “fat” so in my version it just means “designated ugly friend” which is still eh, but again for the sake of fiction it will have to do, Please remember those standards are out dated. Love you all hope you have fun with this like i did (: thank you so much to my love @yeonmuse for helping make the banner, she’s so talented check her out guys.

You’re not sure why you came.

The music pulses like a second heartbeat as you linger in the doorway of the house, the bass reverberating through your ribcage. Inside, it’s packed wall-to-wall with bodies moving in a chaotic kind of harmony, shoulders brushing, drinks sloshing, laughter climbing over music like ivy. You follow the familiar trail of your best friends, Dani and Sakura, as they dive headfirst into the party’s epicenter. They're already laughing with someone, effortlessly folding themselves into a circle of golden-lit conversation. You’re left in the doorway like static caught on the edge of a signal, half-there, mostly invisible. You try to speak, to jump into the flow, but your voice is swallowed by the noise.

honey4hoonie

Body and Soul

|fwb!Riki x f!reader| porn with plot!|

|warnings! cursing, mentions of alcohol and smoking, smut, mdni! protected sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f and m receiving) fingering, praise kink, piv, throat fucking, choking (slight) porn with plot|

|synopsis! riki has an unspoken rule to never sleep with the same person twice just like reader has a rule to not get romantically involved with anyone right before graduation, but what are rules if not meant to be broken?|

|word count: 17.6k|

The reality of your final year of university could be summed up to one single word; boring. Outside of your lectures and study time all you had the energy for was napping or occasionally meeting friends for a short dinner before racing back home to be in bed at a reasonable hour.

It wasn’t that being studious and focused was a bad thing, but you had expected your time at university to be a little more interesting. Your first year had started with a bang, enrolling in your college with a long distance high school boyfriend who waited all but two months to cheat on you. His infidelity snowballed into a messy breakup, issues with your self image, and what would become the wildest version of yourself you have ever seen.

Through trial and error you were able to confirm it’s true what they say, the best way of getting over someone was to get under somebody else. Your spike of rebellion lasted just under three months and you have been extremely tame since then. It’s not like you enjoyed being intoxicated every weekend and waking up in unfamiliar beds but since then you have not only been single but you’ve been going through what you’re convinced is the longest running dry spell in history.

heethera

˖*°࿐ •*⁀➷ 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐧

➜ summary: ni-ki likes his best friend. but sunoo thinks he likes self-sabotaging himself more.

pairing: ni-ki x f!reader, wc: 13k words , genre: best friends to lovers w: rude jokes, cussing, kissing

a/n: hi friends! i'm finally back and have a little bit of time for myself to write this fic! hope u all like it! <3 also, happiest birthday to my bias, heeseung! :)

“Damn, you’re in this dorm room more than I am.”

The words came from Sunoo, somewhere behind you, muffled by the sound of your laughter. You were curled up on Ni-ki’s bed, half-buried in his gray hoodie that was a little too big on you, scrolling through your phone while he sat at his desk pretending to focus on his laptop.

He wasn’t. He never did when you were here.

“Well, I can’t help it,” you said, tossing a chip at Sunoo. “I just like the atmosphere.”

“The atmosphere,” Sunoo repeated, eyes sparkling. “You mean Ni-ki.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s quiet. It’s peaceful.”

Ni-ki didn’t look up, but the corner of his mouth twitched, that small, barely-there smile he couldn’t suppress whenever you said something like that. He’d learned to hide it well. You talked too much, smiled too easily, filled the silence. You were everything he wasn’t, and somehow, the two of you got along too well.

“You two are disgusting,” Sunoo sighed, throwing a pillow at him next. “Ni-ki, blink twice if you’re tired of her stupid ass.”

Ni-ki blinked once. Slowly.

You laughed. “See? He loves me.”

He did. God, he did.

zorange13

Zee/Z ♪ 05 ♪ writer/fic reviewer ♪ infp-t ♪ she/her ♪ WOC (black) ♪

note: i write everything with POCs (mainly Black women) in mind, so if you don’t like that then this isn’t the place for you.

also, if i liked your fic and didn't reblog then that means it's on my tbr and i don't wanna lose it!!

18+ blog! this isn’t a safe space for minors.

racists, homophobes, bigots, zionists, and misogynists. you are not welcome. i don't even know how y'all got over here lmao.

i accept requests!!

taglist here !!

mini masterlist

he’s such a loser, wtf?! - pjs | ao3

enha as boyfriends | argument edition | toxic situationship |

love island, enhypen edition | maknae line | jake continuation (teaser) | season 7?

your name in wet paint; nrk | ao3

sanctioned, nrk | ao3

the need for structure, nrk | ao3 | f+f

riki nishimura must die | ao3

•18+ Adults Only

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zorange13

Hiiii i just read ur riki fic on the need for structure n it was soooo good 🙂‍↕️if you are up for it do you think u can write a headcannon on riki n the reader like what kind of boyfriend he is, things they do in their day to day lives and cute things or hm for things riki does???

— the need for structure, nishimura riki: foundations + framework

the need for structure headcannons!!

author's note to anon: omg this is insane considering that i’ve never done headcannons or anything additional for a fic before but this was such a fireee idea THANK YOU and i’m glad you enjoyed my babies. omg let’s hold each other’s hands and revisit together omg i’m literally smiling so hard rn. i thoroughly enjoyed this and i think ima do this more often!!

to fully understand the context, you should read the full fic. i swear you'll like it. i honestly don't think this can be read as a standalone.

cw. toothaching fluff, tnfs universe ig?, implied smut and mentions of sex MINORS DNI regardless!! and yeah idk i don't think there's anything else this is all very happy. but ofc lmk if i missed anything!

✰ you spend most of your time there anyway, i honestly see you moving into riki’s house after about a year or so. since you’re 21 and that’s about your third year of college (in the US, typically), i think for your last year—you just move in.

✰ riki would be the one to ask (obvi). i see you guys sitting on the couch—most likely eating some cookies he baked from scratch and he’d just be all dramatic and would pull out all the stops.

the night is young, the fireplace is crackling and the christmas tree lights are dancing and obnoxiously bright but that’s what it’s all about, really. you two are sitting on the floor with a humongous plate of cookies for you and some for blue that he made on another plate for our favorite boy.

“ok so, as you know christmas is coming up.” riki smiled brightly, the hues of orange from the fire reflecting in the corner of his frames. you laugh, looking down at your matching pajamas and up at the nine foot tall tree. “that’s crazy, dude. i never noticed.”

zorange13

— riki nishimura must die

pairing: college basketball star! nishimura riki x reader

wc. 39.4k words YIKESSS longest fic i’ve written

cw. mutual pining, enemies to lovers to exes to lovers, rom-com-drama, a very charming riki, revenge plot (psychological sabotage, gaslighting, verbal degradation, mild obsession, public humiliation attempt, confrontations, manipulation of personal belongings, emotional manipulation), crying, accidental injury (basketball hit to face), sexual innuendo/locker-room misogyny, intense argument, swearing, another attempt of humor, banter, yearning ofc bc is it me if i didn't have the male lead down catastrophically?, morally grey characters and complex relationships, food and eating mention, college au (obvi)

synopsis: you never cared for athletes. but campus golden boy—riki nishimura—made ignoring him impossible. what begins as petty annoyance spirals into banter, tension, and a chemistry you can't help but acknowledge. until one overheard comment turns everything sour, sending you down a path of revenge, sabotage, and a clusterfuck of feelings you can't outrun anymore. and somewhere between revenge and regret, you and riki have to figure out whether you’re destined to destroy each other…or fall in love instead.

author's note: hi everyone!! literally everytime i'm about to post a fic i get extremely nervous bc i never know how it's going to be received. but please, have a little lenience. as some of you may know, i underwent an insane writer's block and do have frequent depressive episodes. this is me slowly but surely trying to get myself back together and trying new things. this is relatively rougher than my others and i'm not so confident in it but i love you guys regardless and how you've been supporting me. i will always say i am forever indebted and blessed to have such nice people on my blog!! so here's riki nishimura must die.

lightly based on but heavily inspired by: john tucker must die (2006)

disclaimer: i do not condone half of the shit happening in this fic. as you know, i always promote positive and safe relationship dynamics in my work but again, trying something new. reader's discretion is advised.

You didn’t understand sports.

For the life of you, you couldn’t wrap your brain around the hype that went into it. The screaming, the ragebaiting, the rioting, the gambling. None of it made sense to you. You’ve seen the animals it turns people into and it makes you not even want anything to do with that type of crowd. Though, you do respect athletes. The time, hard work, and discipline it takes to be that good at something is so profound and honestly, you can’t help but applaud. However, there was someone—rather, something—that respected athletes more than you. That was Decelis University. Your school, your university as a matter of fact.

Nationally ranked, Division I, Decelis University ran alongside heavy hitters in the college sports scene alongside schools such as UConn, Purdue, St. John’s, Florida, Duke, the like. Decelis didn’t just respect athletes, they built shrines for them. Kissed the ground they walked on and worshipped them like some sorts of heavenly figures. Nothing was bigger than sports. Not finals week, not homecoming, not even free weekly food trucks on the quad. Game nights shut the whole campus down—professors excused absences, the bookstore stocked special merch, and students camped outside the arena like it was Coachella. And at the center of it all was Mr. Riki Nishimura.

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Me reading this for the 50th time at midnight instead of sleeping for work tokorrow morning at 5am 🥹

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