゛warnings - smut, squirting, pet names, bigdick!hee, sough rex, new relationship, unprotected sex (don’t do that pls)
now that you and your new boyfriend, heeseung, have ‘done it’ a couple times, you’re used to it all. like how gentle he normally is with it. not today, though. not after he came home angry from something that happened at work.
now, he was gripping your hair so hard it would 100% make your scalp sore later, throwing your head back and forth over his dick while his tip slammed into the back of your throat until it hurt. you’d never seen him like this— not that you didn’t like it.
abruptly, he stops. “get on the bed.” you listen immediately, getting up off your knees shakily and hopping onto the bed. he puts his hand over your mouth to muffle the cry you let out as he slides halfway into you. “take it — fuck.”
you’re a mess. a sweaty, moaning, shaking mess. only half of his dick is inside of you and you already feel full. pulling back, he thrusts forward as far as he can until he meets resistance. you dig your nails into heeseung’s shoulders, your back arching and your head thrown back. “oh my god.”
“you feel so fucking good sweetheart.” your boyfriends size fills you all the way up with every thrust, both of you panting hard.
“heeseung— god”
“shit, say that again” he heaves his words out, panting for air.
“heeseung?”
he nods throwing his head back, pulling his hand down to rub circles around your clit in hopes you two would finish at the same time. but a newfound feeling circles your stomach. a bubble builds up that makes your back arch as he finishes along with you and lets his thrusts slow down. but it’s weird— you just finished and the bubble in your stomach is still there.
“nngh— fuck!” clear liquid comes flying as the feeling clears. heeseung looks down confused as he gets covered.
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Hooking up with the campus drug dealer who also happens to be your friend with benefits? Totally normal. Confessing feelings while you’re both high? Yeah... you guys were definitely not ready for that conversation
ⓘ Cw!!: friends with benefits, angst, drug use (marijuana / weed), high sex / Sex while high, mentions of addiction, unprotected sex, piv, prone bone, creampie, light nipple and clit stimulation.
A/N: i’ve never actually been high, let alone had sex while high, so... i literally have no idea what i'm doing 😶🌫️ ── masterlist
The smoke doesn’t just drift under the lamp; it hangs there, heavy and stagnant, warping the corners of Ni-ki’s room until everything feels slightly detached from reality.
You’re pressed against the wall, heels digging into the unmade mattress, watching your body give in to the slow, physical drag of the high.
Next to you, Ni-ki is half-reclined, one knee bent, his long fingers loosely anchoring the joint between them. He’s running his mouth about some idiot from his department who tried to trade him a fake watch for two grams.
You aren't really following the words. Your focus is entirely on the blunt, tracing the slight tremor in his hand, answering him with just enough sharp, cynical teeth to keep your usual defense up.
"—and the asshole swears to me it’s gold," Ni-ki mutters, a dry, humorless huff slipping past his lips. "I could tell it was painted plastic from three meters away. You have to be a specific type of stupid to try and play me like that."
"Honestly? He probably just looked at you and realized you’re an easy target," you reply.
The words drag out of your throat, thick and slow, but the arrogance behind them is perfectly intact.
Ni-ki smirks. It’s that lazy, cocky tilt of his lips you’ve memorized over months of this. He takes a slow, deep drag, holding the smoke in his chest while his bloodshot eyes lock dead onto yours. His eyelids are heavy, dropping low, but the gaze behind them is entirely too focused. He releases the breath inch by inch, letting the pale mist settle as a physical barrier between your faces.
The conversation dies right there.
The silence that follows isn’t empty; it’s dense. Solid. Ni-ki lets his hand drop to the sheets, completely forgetting to pass the joint back, his eyes tracking down your nose, over your cheekbones, and stopping hard at your mouth. A faint sheen of sweat glints at his collarbone, the sheer heat radiating from his skin bridging the small gap between you.
Your pulse has slowed to a heavy thud behind your ears, but you refuse to blink first.
"What?" you finally ask, your voice dropping a octave, floating weakly in the quiet.
Ni-ki doesn't answer. He just shifts his weight onto one elbow, sliding across the mattress with a deliberate, agonizing slowness. He closes the distance until the scent of weed and the warmth of his breath hit your face.
"Just that you look pretty when you're high," he says, his tone completely casual, but the smirk is gone.
You let out a weak, breathless laugh, trying to push back against the sudden spike of your adrenaline.
"Your compliments are fucking garbage, Ni-ki," you murmur, staring straight into his bloodshot eyes. "Stop lying just because you want to get into my pants."
He doesn't even flinch. The corner of his mouth just tugs back up, feeding on the resistance.
"Oh, yeah? So you think you're ugly?"
"I never said that," you snap back, narrowing your eyes. "I'm just saying it's weird getting a sincere word out of you when your dick isn't in my mouth."
Ni-ki’s gaze drops to your lips instantly. He leans in that extra millimeter, forcing you to breathe his air.
"You look fucking gorgeous then, too," he rasps, his voice slurred but heavy. "Can't help it. Seeing you smoke just reminds me of how you get under me. The noises you make when you lose your grip."
Your throat goes completely dry. The bluntness of it catches you off guard, stripping away your ability to find a clever comeback.
"You're delirious," you whisper, a desperate attempt to save your pride.
"Maybe," he murmurs.
Ni-ki takes one final drag, the cherry glowing bright before he crushes the butt into the ashtray on the floor. Without breaking eye contact, his hand comes up to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling into your hair, tilting your face up.
When his mouth meets yours, he doesn't just kiss you—he blows the trapped smoke directly down your throat.
You inhale him, the hot hit striking your lungs right as he obliterates the remaining space. The kiss is wet, thick, and slowed down by the high clouding both your heads. His tongue slides against yours in a heavy, friction-filled rhythm, tasting of dry smoke and lazy urgency. He sucks on your lower lip with a rough insistence that makes your entire body vibrate against the wall.
He uses his weight to break your posture, pushing you down until your spine sinks into the unmade mattress. The room spins in slow motion.
Instantly, he’s between your thighs, his crotch sinking hard against your lower stomach. He pulls back just enough to look down at you, his chest rising and falling in time with your own ragged breaths. His hand slides under the hem of your shirt, his palms hot against the bare skin of your waist.
"Look at you," he mutters, his voice raw. "Fucking beautiful for me."
You groan when his fingers grip your hip firmly, tilting your pelvis up to meet his in a sudden, blunt alignment.
"Shut up and just fuck me already," you whisper, digging your nails into his shoulders, your pride still fighting the lethargy. "You talk too much."
Ni-ki lets out a short, husky laugh against your jaw before tracing a wet trail down your neck. Your skin feels rawly sensitive from the weed; every brush of his denim, every touch of his calloused fingers feels amplified, almost overwhelming.
He traps your wrists above your head, pinning them with an easy, careless strength. His free hand slides up your torso, gathering the fabric of your shirt and pulling it all the way up with a rough yank, bunching it tightly around your neck and collarbones, trapping your arms.
Before you can complain about the cold air, his fingers hook under your bra, shoving it up to bare your chest. His bloodshot eyes track the movement, his thumbs grazing your nipples until they harden.
"Fuck," he slurs, completely gone in the high. "I missed these."
"Pervert," you breathe, a weak laugh catching in your chest.
He ducks his head, his weight crashing into you a little clumsily as the high throws off his balance, but he recovers instantly. He takes one nipple into his mouth, his tongue licking insistently against the tip until you let out a loud, unprompted groan.
Without letting go of your chest, his hand tracks down to the waistband of your jeans, hooking both denim and cotton together. He shoves them down with a lazy roughness, stopping right at your mid-thighs—just enough to free your hips, completely ignoring how the tight denim bunches uncomfortably around your knees. He just wants the access.
"Move, you're heavy," you whine, tugging weakly at his hair.
"Shut up," he rasps.
Ni-ki slides his hands down, hooking his fingers behind your knees and hauling your legs upward, opening you completely. The restriction of your pants forces your thighs wide, arching your lower back off the bed.
He doesn't look down yet. Instead, he brings his hand to his mouth, lazily coating his thumb in his own thick saliva before dropping his gaze to inspect you.
You're completely wet, glistening under the dim light, your pulse throbbing visibly between your thighs. Ni-ki stares, his eyes narrowing as he reaches down and drags the pad of his wet thumb directly up your inner lips, parting them with agonizing slowness to smear his spit and your juices together.
When his thumb presses firmly over your clit, an electric jolt snaps up your spine.
You gasp, your hips instinctively jerking into his hand. Seeing the reaction, that cocky smirk returns to his face, but he freezes his finger right there, leaving the ache burning in your stomach.
"Always so sensitive when we smoke," he murmurs, enjoying the total collapse of your control. "Every single touch wrecks you."
"You're an asshole... keep going," you groan, closing your eyes as the room tilts.
"No," he whispers.
Before you can process the word, Ni-ki grips your hips and flips you completely over on your stomach.
The sudden movement makes the weed haze hit your brain full force. The room spins violently; you have to dig your fingernails into the fitted sheet just to keep from feeling like you're falling through the floor. You're left suspended in that heavy, nauseating dizziness, your cheek pressed hard against the pillow while the ringing in your ears grows deafening.
Behind you, the mattress dips. There's the sharp friction of cotton as he rips his shirt off, followed by the metallic click of his belt buckle echoing sharply in the silence. You hear his jeans slide down just enough to free him.
You’re barely recovering from the vertigo when his heat floods your back. Ni-ki drops his heavy torso over you, pinning you flat. The direct contact of his bare, slick skin against your exposed back forces a broken breath from your lungs. He feels massive. Heavy. Real. His rigid dick presses directly against your backside, the pulse of it vibrating through your own skin.
He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his nose nudging your hair out of the way as he breathes heavily, his chest expanding against your spine. His hands find your hips, anchoring you down.
"Still dizzy?" he whispers into your ear, his voice cracked and dangerously thick. "Tell me if you're gonna pass out, because I'm not stopping once I start."
"Rot in hell," you whisper back, tilting your head to catch air, your body already going completely soft under his weight, surrendering to the high. "Just do it."
Ni-ki lets out a rough huff against your skin, satisfied. His hands grip your hip bones, hauling your pelvis up just high enough. The posture forces you onto your forearms, your head hanging low, your limbs completely numb.
He slots his thighs outside of yours, rubbing the wet head of his dick against your entrance. The friction against your swollen lips pulls a violent shudder from your legs.
"You're so wet..." he groans, the words slurred and thick with difficulty. "Fuck, it's taking everything."
You open your mouth to tell him to cut the games and just push inside, but you never get the chance.
Ni-ki drives his pelvis forward in one smooth, deep thrust, burying himself all the way inside you in a single motion.
The penetration is so blunt and sudden that your eyes roll back under your heavy lids. A muffled cry tears from your throat, trailing off into a long gasp as your fingers claw desperately into the sheets. The impact fills you so entirely that the sensation reaches deep into your stomach, completely wiping out any coherent thought.
Ni-ki lets out a loud gasp of his own, a low, startled sound escaping his throat as your walls clamp down wildly around him. His own muscles seem to weigh twice as much under the high; instead of keeping up a pace, he collapses forward, laying flat against your back.
The pressure of his chest pins you down, stealing your air and your ability to react. There is no space to think—only the heat of his skin and the massive weight holding you under.
He begins to move with an intentional slowness, his reflexes weighed down by the drug, but every single thrust is brutal in its depth. It’s a thick, heavy rhythm that stretches the pleasure until it edges into pain. He pulls almost entirely out, only to slide back inside slowly, savoring the slick friction and the wet sounds filling the quiet room.
Clumsily, his hand reaches up to your face. Strands of your hair are stuck to your forehead from sweat, some caught in your mouth. He brushes them away with trembling fingers, his palm sliding under your chin to force your head up. He wants to see you. He pulls your face back, forcing your eyes to meet his through the haze.
"Fuck, it feels so good..." he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "You're so fucking tight... you're gonna milk me dry."
You try to bite back with an insult—anything to rebuild the facade—but Ni-ki shifts his angle and delivers a heavy, driving thrust that hits your absolute depth.
A high-pitched moan bounces off the walls, your back arching violently under him. The sheer intensity of the friction snaps something in his mind. He loses what little restraint he had left; his knees give out slightly, and he drops his forehead straight against your shoulder, surrendering.
That's when Ni-ki begins to moan.
He’s never the type to make noise; usually, he keeps it all behind that arrogant smirk. But right now, he’s too undone to hold it in. They are short, husky sounds vibrating deep in his chest, fracturing into a higher pitch at the end from the sheer lack of air.
He buries his face in your neck while his thrusts get harder, driven by that heavy, relentless rhythm. The heat of his skin suffocates you, but it's his breath—fast and panicked against your ear—that makes you lose your footing entirely.
Slowly, his hands slide down your arms until they find yours, still gripping the messy sheets. He covers your fingers, intertwining them with a firm, crushing strength, locking you to the bed while he drives his pelvis forward.
"Fuck... you're mine, you know?" he whispers, his voice cracked, rough, stripped of any safety. "I don't give a shit about anything else... you're the only one who gets me like this. You drive me fucking crazy."
Every word comes with a push that forces a gasp from you. He kisses your neck, moving up to your ear, leaving a wet trail that cools instantly against the room's air. The intimacy of the gesture starts to panic you.
"Ni-ki, please... shut up," you groan, trying to turn your head away from his mouth. "Stop saying... stupid shit."
"It's not stupid shit," he cuts you off, his voice suddenly carrying a crushing certainty, completely devoid of his usual cheap arrogance. "It's not stupid shit and you know it."
He delivers another hard thrust, reminding you exactly who has control of your body. He squeezes your hands tighter, flattening his chest against your spine, forcing you to feel every frantic beat of his heart.
"You think I'm an idiot," he whispers, his voice sending shivers down your arms. "I know exactly how you look at me when you think I don't notice. I know how you get when I come close... how you look for me. You can't lie to me with your fucking pride."
Your eyes snap wide open in the darkness. The words cut just as deep as his movements, sending a violent flip through your stomach.
"You're... delirious, you junkie piece of shit," you breathe, trying to piece your cynical mask back together, but the tremor in your voice gives you away completely.
Ni-ki just smirks against your skin. He doesn't care about the insults; he knows they're just the shield you use when you're dying of nerves.
Without stopping his pace, his free hand slides down under your stomach, tracking between your thighs until his fingers find your clit, completely swollen and wet.
He rubs you with a slow, agonizing insistence, timing the friction of his fingers with the drive of his pelvis. Your knees shake, the cold sweat turning into a stifling heat that destroys your judgment.
"Say whatever you want," he rasps into your ear. "Tell me I'm crazy, call me whatever you want. But we both know you love that I'm a mess, because I'm the only mess that makes you feel anything like this."
You lose your breath entirely as his fingers press harder, pushing you straight over the edge. Ni-ki delivers two quick, rough thrusts, his teeth gently sinking into your earlobe before dropping the line that completely breaks you:
"You can run from me if it makes you feel safe, but you're never getting out of my head, and I'm never getting out of yours either."
The impact of the words hits at the exact same time as the final drive of his pelvis. Your walls contract violently, trapping him in a wild spasm as the orgasm strikes your lower stomach full force. You roll your head back, letting out a choked, ruined cry, completely far gone under his weight.
But Ni-ki doesn't stop. Even though you're coming all around him, he keeps thrusting, chasing his own edge through the suffocating friction of your climax.
His hands grip your hips with a force that's going to leave bruises. With his breath shattered against your ear, he drops the words all at once, with a simplicity so raw it burns worse than the pleasure itself:
"I'm fucking in love with you."
The whisper is husky, desperate. "Stop being so stupid... Stop pretending you don't notice. I like you so much it hurts, fuck."
On the very last syllable, Ni-ki delivers one final, deep stroke, burying himself into your absolute depth as his entire body goes rigid, coming deep inside you.
You let out a sharp moan that cuts off in your throat as you feel the hot rush of his cum filling you up, a suffocating heat mixing with your own juices. He buries his face in your neck, letting out a few rough gasps against your wet skin, finally giving in to the exhaustion.
The room settles, returning to that heavy stillness. The background hum creeps back into your ears as your breaths try to steady themselves.
Ni-ki begins to leave a few lazy, trailing kisses on your skin. He kisses the upper part of your back with a strange tenderness, moving up your shoulder, tilting his head until he reaches your face, searching for your lips.
But when his mouth brushes your cheek, he catches a wet texture. Tears.
Ni-ki freezes instantly, blinking slowly to clear the haze from his eyes.
"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice thick, carrying a tone of genuine concern stripped of any defense.
You don't look at him. Your eyes are locked on the wall, your chest rising and falling heavily, a knot in your throat choking you. Pure panic has taken complete hold of you; you feel naked, exposed, and utterly terrified of what just happened.
"Get off," you murmur in a sharp, breathless whisper. "Please, just get off of me."
Ni-ki, still too wasted and exhausted to process the gravity of your tone, doesn't understand. His brain, slowed down by the joint, doesn't comprehend what's wrong when a second ago everything was perfect. He shifts slightly over you, not pulling away entirely.
"Hey... what's wrong? You good?" he asks again, a clumsy hand reaching out to touch your hair.
That simple gesture makes you snap. The docility of the high vanishes, replaced by a defensive rage that burns you from the inside out.
"I said get the fuck off me!" you scream, using all the strength in your back and elbows to shove him violently backward.
The impact catches him completely off guard. Being so loose from the high, he loses his balance easily and slips out of you with a wet friction, tumbling back onto his side of the bed.
You bolt upright on the mattress, turning your back to him, roughly wiping the tears from your face with the sleeve of the shirt still bunched around your neck.
Ni-ki opens his mouth, a word getting caught in his throat from pure confusion. But you don't give him the time. You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the violent ringing roaring in your ears from the sudden change in position.
You pull up your panties and jeans with frantic, clumsy movements, not even bothering to wipe away the mix of fluids running down your legs. You don't care about the discomfort; you just need layers of clothes over you to stop feeling so defenseless in front of him. Your hands are shaking so badly you can barely work the button of your pants, cursing under your breath in a fractured whisper.
"Hey, wait..." Ni-ki's voice sounds weak, thick, drifting from the mattress. He gently catches your forearm with fingers that are also trembling from exhaustion. "Why the fuck are you acting like this? I'm serious, I—"
"Get off me!" you snap, slapping his hand away.
You force yourself to stand up, but the weed takes its toll and you stumble, having to lean your palm against the wall to keep from hitting the floor. The room takes a slow, sickening spin, making you break into a wild sweat.
"You're way too high, you can't go out on the street like this," he insists, shifting slowly onto his bare knees, his dilated pupils locked on you. His expression is a mix of genuine concern and the confusion of a guy who just opened his heart only to get a slap in the face. "Stay. Just... stay for five minutes. Let's talk."
Panic rises up your throat like acid. Sensing that Ni-ki, the idiot you're only supposed to hook up with to pass the time, is looking at you like you're his whole world terrifies you. It burns. Because how can you control yourself from looking at him that way, too? You need to shatter the atmosphere; you need to put back the usual distance, even if you have to tear your heart and his to pieces to do it.
"Talk about what?" you scream at him, your voice cracking as tears start gathering in your eyes again. "About the stupid shit you say because your brain is fried? You're pathetic, Ni-ki."
He tenses on the bed. The docility of the high begins to evaporate from his face, replaced by a harsh stiffness.
"What?" he murmurs.
"You heard me," you shoot back, using venom to hide the trembling of your lips. "You're just a fucking junkie piece of shit who doesn't know the difference between being horny and your own delusions. You smoked a little too much and now you're getting sentimental. You disgust me."
The insult cuts through the silence of the room with the force of a physical blow. Ni-ki's fingers tremble against the sheet, but it's no longer from the effects of the substance; it's from suppressed rage. His shoulders go rigid, and that cold, arrogant look he uses with the rest of the world snaps right back, wiping away any trace of the vulnerable guy from a few minutes ago.
"Say that again," he says, his voice dangerously low and slurred.
"You're sick," you reply, backing away toward the door while frantically shoving your shoes on. "We're only friends with benefits because you're the only dumbass who gets me this stuff for free. Don't get it twisted. You mean nothing to me."
Ni-ki lets out a short, dry laugh that has absolutely no humor in it. He stays sitting on the mattress, motionless, watching you run away. He is too physically weak to get up and stop you, but his bloodshot eyes drill into your back with a hatred that is pure pain.
"Go then," he tells you, and his voice sounds like ice hitting metal. "Get the fuck out of my house. And pray your fucking addiction doesn't bring you crawling back to me."
You don't answer. You yank the bedroom door open and step out into the hallway, slamming it behind you hard enough to make the walls shake.
Ni-ki collapses backward onto the bed, half-naked, his chest rising and falling heavily and his mind spinning in an absolute void, trying to understand at what exact point the most vulnerable moment of his life turned into this disaster.
synopsis: Where Ni-ki doesn't do anything more than one nights and you just can't forget the blond.
cw: masturbating, voyeurism, choking, stalking, lap dance, kissing
one | two (here) | three
The stage was already occupied with Lyra and her match as you guided Heeseung backstage, his fingers intertwined with yours, following you around without any objections.
“What’s your name?”
“Crimson”
“The real one”
You just glanced at him over your shoulder, “Crimson, you’re up!” The madam shouted a smirk graced your lips “Lucky timing” you answered as you pulled Heeseung onto the stage. The crowd erupted in screams, the girls were cheering you on as you brought the man to the center of the stage where the chair was placed.
The lights dimmed, the music picked up, you slowly dragged your hand up Heeseung’s shirt, feeling the mans muscles flex, he swallowed, his eyes scanning your figure. You pushed him down, his body obeyed your command, he was completely relaxed under your touch as you slowly turned around and let your hands trace your curves. You then turned towards Heeseung again slowly raising your leg up and placing it between his legs, he spread his legs even more.
He sat there, manspreading and leaned back, arms crossed just watching you with a smirk, you slowly raised your leg up to his chest and pressed it, he grabbed your ankle with one hand and placed a kiss on your leg before trailing upwords towards your knee.
You fisted his hair with one hand and leaned down, your lips brushed against his, you slowly smiled before turning around and sitting on his lap fully, Heeseung’s hands immediately came around your hips, his warm hands tracing your ass as you grinded on him.
You bent over, whining and twerking as his hard on poked you. You wrapped your legs around the chair and let yourself fall back in between his legs, you hair sprawled all across the floor as Heeseung groaned, you let your hand grab a bunch of cash and place it between your tits.
Everyone was watching— you could feel the eyes on you. The attention of men women and him. You couldn’t see him yet you could swear he was watching, you raised yourself back up and Heeseung was waiting for you with open arms, you raised your hips up slightly and Heeseung slammed you down immediately.
You moaned slightly, rocking your hips back and forth, dry humping the guy who was kissing all over your tits was a great way to forget pretty much anything. The track ended and cheers begun, the madam called another girl onstage and you dragged Heeseung to the back, when you guys were alone in the dressing room you guys both looked at each other.
He chuckled first and the you begun giggling before you could name the emotions that were surging through you, you both were laughing. “You are one hell of a woman Crimson” Heeseung whispered “Thank you” you just answered back in a whisper.
Suddenly the door banged open making you flinch, Heeseung lost all his humor as he turned to the door, it was the blond. Ni-ki stood there, his hand was on the door, he looked at Heeseung dead in the eyes— ignoring you “Let’s go” you looked back at Heeseung, he now had a gun in his hand that you didn’t feel on him before.
You’re eyes widened slightly “Later sweetheart” Heeseung said now seemingly angry too, you just nodded as Heeseung passed Ni-ki and walked down the corridor, you turned around to take of your makeup for the night as you looked into the mirror you saw Ni-ki standing behind you.
You gasped, shock coursed over you as his hand wrapped around your throat and your back slammed against his body. He didn’t say anything as his brown eyes searched yours, his hand wasn’t letting go, you felt your breath slowly fading away.
You stepped on his feet with your heel, elbowed him in the stomach and yet he didn’t move even an inch, he just clenched his jaw, he didn’t say anything as he bent his face down towards yours and bit your lip, the same place Heeseung bit you before letting you go.
You turned around ready to scream at his face but he wasn’t there. “Fucking prick” you ran your hands thru your hair but your heart kept beating, there was a pink tint that sat on your cheeks, you closed your eyes— fuck.
Later that night when you arrived home, Lyra had already fallen asleep, she arrived home sooner than you, after the whole situation you had you threw back a few shots at the bar, making sure you had enough for a good nights sleep.
When you got out of the shower your phone rang, you didn’t look at it, drying your hair and applying your night cream first. Only when you got into the bed you checked your phone, it was an unknown number.
“Did you go home?”
You stared at the message, fear and thrill coarsed through your veins, could it be…
“Ni-ki?”
Three dots appeared and disappeared.
“Good”
“You know who you’re talking to”
“You’re crazy, how did you get my number?”
“Never do that shit again”
“?”
There was silence from the other side, you stared at the screen for a minute before the message appeared.
“Don’t pull that shit you pulled with him again”
You furrowed your brows, a kid wasn’t going to be telling you what you could or couldn’t especially after kid whom berated you.
“I don’t know what you have confused here Ni-ki, stripping is my job and I’d be fucking damned if I stopped for a 19 year old kid.”
“20”
You scoffed in disbelief as you threw your phone somewhere on the bed, you didn’t care for whatever the fuck he had to say anymore, what a weird kid.
Your phone vibrated with a few more messages before it begun to buzz, you ignored it once, twice, the third time you reached for you phone to put it on dnd.
“Answer the phone”
“Last time I’m warning you Crimson”
You answered the phone, Ni-ki was silent, you just sighed before muttering “What do you want Ni-ki” he chuckled, his voice was deeper over the phone you closed your eyes a shiver ran down your spine, “I still haven’t heard you say it” you rubbed a hand over your face “Say what?” He answered in a heartbeat. “Say that you won’t be fucking entertaining random men on stage kissing them” you sighed.
“That’s my job Ni-ki, those men pay my bills, those men fund my life style” it was Ni-ki’s turn to scoff “You know, I’m far more capable of doing that and more compared to any man at that club” you laughed, it wasn’t a cute laugh— you didn’t intend for it to be. “How old were you again” you asked “Twenty” he answered, you laughed some more.
“You think I’m gonna stop working and let a kid take care of me?” There was a silence that made you feel even more giddy “You think twenty is a kid?” You chuckled “Sorry, a baby” you corrected yourself. “You were offering to give a baby a lap dance then?” His tone was mocking, you felt that weird feeling in your gut again.
“That was my mistake, you’re right. You looked young I shouldn’t have.” Ni-ki clearly didn’t expect this answer out of you. “In the end it all happened with Heeseung anyway so it all worked out but I won’t approach you anymore.”
Ni-ki scoffed “Even if you approached me nothing would have happened— I don’t date, much less strippers.” You could hear the anger in his tone “So what you just sleep around with a girl and fund her life?!” His answer came in fast “If I want to yeah, mostly sleep around.”
“Goodbye Ni-ki.”
With that you hung up the phone, you were fuming— you put your phone on airplane mode and closed your eyes, you were going the fuck to bed. Fuck a blond asian men with dark brown eyes and deep voice. You knew men never took you and the girls who worked in the industry too seriously but it didn’t make you much less of a human then any other highly educated lady.
Whenever you talked with him, it made you insecure, the feeling never really went away, you didn’t understand what it was. His sharp eyes and cold demeanor or his ego that made you so interested in him. Was it his voice that made you get wet or was it the reminder he left on your neck, soft bruises that were throbbing now that you focused on it.
Was it his soft warm lips that made you slip your fingers inside your panties or his brooding height that made you imagine how being under him would look. Your fingers rubbed circles around your clit as your eyes fluttered closed. You could smell his cologne, hear his voice, feel his strong hand around your neck, you fastened your speed up “oh fuck, ni-ki” you whispered. His name slipped out so easily, your back arched off the bed and your breath was knocked out your lungs.
You closed your eyes and sighed, what a fucking asshole, making you cum even when he wasn’t there.
Ni-ki could forgive you for hanging up the phone to his face after that little show you put on, just for him.
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I’m not sure whose mansion this is, but it’s obscenely huge. Some rich kid from our college; probably one of those business majors whose dad owns half of Seoul. I don’t really care who. I’m here for the free alcohol and a good time with Alyssa.
She’s already five drinks in, dancing near the massive marble staircase with some guy from the soccer team, and I’m on my way back from the makeshift bar they’ve set up in the foyer.
The place is packed. Bodies everywhere, music thumping so loud I feel it in my chest. I’ve got my Malibu-fruitpunch in one hand and my phone in the other, trying to navigate through the crowd without spilling anything. That’s when it happens.
Someone barrels into me. Hard. Like a freight train without brakes.
The glass flies out of my hand, and I feel the cold liquid splash across the front of my top; my favorite one, the one I saved up for weeks to buy! I look down, and the pink stain is already spreading, soaking into the fabric. My first thought is fuck, my second is who the hell.
“Dude, what the fuck this is 100% cotton, not some cheap—” I start, my eyes fixed on the damage, trying to assess if it’s salvageable. The idiot who crashed into me is still moving, looking around like he’s searching for someone.
“Hey, you’re Choi Aria, right?”
A male voice. Deep. Familiar in a way that makes my stomach flip. I force my gaze up from the mess on my chest and try to focus on his face, but he keeps turning his head, scanning the room, his body language restless and impatient. He’s tall; obnoxiously tall. It takes me a second to process.
How does he know my name?
“How do you know my name?!” I snap, my voice cutting through the noise. I’m angry, frustrated, and still trying to figure out if the stain is going to set.
He finally turns to look at me directly, and I freeze.
That face. Those sharp jawlines, the piercing eyes, the smirk that’s practically famous around campus. That’s Nishimura Riki. Star player of the ice hockey team. The guy every girl whispers about in the library. The one who’s always surrounded by a crowd at parties like this.
WTF, I mouth under my breath.
“You’re so gonna pay for my dry cleaning—” I try again, my voice coming out shakier than I want.
He cuts me off. Again.
“You were friends with Kim Ji-woo, but you two got into a big fight right?”
His tone is casual, almost bored, like he’s asking about the weather. But the name hits me like a slap.
Ji-woo. My ex-best friend. The one who ghosted me after our fight over a guy, the one who never apologized, the one I’ve avoided like the plague since freshman year.
“Um—well—yeah, we were? But I don’t know why that would be relevant right now?! What I do know is that you’re gonna pay—” I try to finish my sentence, but he cuts me off again, and I feel my irritation spike.
“I’ll pay you 175,000 won!” he says, flatly, like it’s a price tag on a cheap item.
I blink. Twice. “Wait, what?! That was easy?”
“Listen. Ji-woo broke up with me last week, and now she’s all ready dating Lee Chae-won. I saw her just now, and I want to make her jealous. You’re her ex-best friend; it’s perfect.”
His eyes are wide, earnest, and there’s a desperate edge to his voice that I don’t trust. The whole thing sounds insane.
“Wha—you’re paying me 175,000 won for a peck on the lips?” I manage, my brain still trying to catch up.
“Not a peck, she won’t believe that! You know… like a little makeout session. Really sell it. Fuck, she’s coming!”
He looks over my shoulder, and I turn instinctively. There she is. Ji-woo, walking through the doorway, her arm linked with Haerin. The same smug expression she used to wear when we were still friends.
I spin back to face Riki. “MAKE OUT?! That’s not worth 175,000 won, Nishimura!”I said walking away.
“Fuck, Choi, that’s easy money!” he hisses, grabbing my arm and pulling me closer.
“Listen, I don’t really know you, plus you’re apparently my ex-best friend’s ex-boyfriend, that’s—”
“350,000!” he yells, his eyes still locked on the entrance.
I turn again. Ji-woo is walking further into the room. She hasn’t seen us yet. My heart is pounding so loud I can barely hear the music. The alcohol in my system is making me dizzy. And then I think about the money. 350,000 won for a kiss. A kiss that would wipe that smirk off Ji-woo’s face. Fuck.
I don’t even hesitate anymore. I grab Riki’s face with both hands and pull him into me.
He’s stiff for half a second; surprised, I guess and then something shifts. His hands find the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair, and he yanks me closer, his mouth opening against mine. This isn’t a peck. This is hunger. This is a lip lock that steals my breath.
He pushes me back against the wall, and the impact knocks the air out of me. I let out a small moan, shock more than anything. His body is pressing against mine, solid and warm, and his tongue traces the bottom of my lips. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m just reacting, kissing back, letting him lead.
“Riki?” a voice cuts through the haze.
We break apart. Slowly. Riki’s hand is still in my hair, and my chest is heaving. We both look to the side.
Ji-woo is standing there, mouth slightly open, eyes wide. Haerin is beside her, looking confused.
“ARIA?!” Ji-woo’s voice is sharp, accusatory.
I swallow. My lips are tingling. My heart is racing. “Oh hey,” Riki says, casual as if we weren’t just making out against the wall. “Hi,” I say dryly, meeting Ji-woo’s gaze.
“How are you doing? Didn’t even know you were here tonight,” Riki adds, his tone too calm. This fucking liar. He knew exactly what he was doing.
“What the hell are you two doing?” Ji-woo demands, completely ignoring his question. I can see it in her eyes; the jealousy, the confusion, the anger. It’s beautiful. I want to rub it in more.
Riki starts to speak. “I’m—” I cut him off. I don’t know where the words come from, but they spill out. “I’m his girlfriend. So if you don’t mind, we’re gonna leave.”
I turn to Riki, grabbing his arm. “I’m really craving you, baby,” I say, my voice low and breathless.
He looks startled for a second, then recovers, letting me drag him away. We weave through the crowd, up the marble staircase, and into the first empty room I find. I close the door behind us and lean against it, catching my breath.
“Gosh, you really saved me back there—” Riki starts.
I hold up a hand. I’m still panting, still shaking, but I have a point to make.
So I saw this post and this post and it really made me wanna make a Riki fwb fic where you guys are drunk (I know the vibes aren’t really the same I just wanted to put my spin on it)
Pair: Nishimura Riki x reader
Warnings: p in v, mentions of alcohol, drunk characters, mentions of weed and smoking, implied drunk driving, swearing, kissing, unprotected sex, pet names, exhibitionism mention,
Probably missed a lot of stuff but I don’t gaf so
Word count: 2K (I think???)
Basically porn with no plot
Not proofread
The club was packed, the bass thumping in your chest. You and your friends had been dancing for hours, shot after shot making everything fuzzy and fun. The air was thick with perfume, sweat, and the relentless beat of the music
You really needed this after another week of school left you feeling drained.
Riki hadn't texted all night, which honestly wasn't unusual for your complicated situation.
See, you and Riki are in a weird gray zone. You guys share the same friend group and hangout all the time, but every now and then, the two of you end up naked in bed together.
And the sex is really good.
Neither of you has ever put a label on whatever this is. There are no late-night “what are we?” conversations or expectations attached. No one else knows about it either. It just stays between you guys. When you’re with everyone else, you act like friends. When you’re alone, things get a little more complicated. And somehow, that’s just become normal.
At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.
You were supposed to be having fun, dancing with your friends and enjoying yourself, not checking your phone every few minutes to see if Riki had finally replied. Not wondering why your messages were still sitting on read or what Riki would do if he saw you in those little shorts you’re wearing.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him today, either. Earlier, he’d been off talking to Jake while you stayed with everyone else. The two of you hadn’t exchanged a single word.
The only time he’d acknowledged you was on his way past, when his hand found your waist for the briefest second—a casual squeeze before he kept walking like it meant nothing.
It should’ve been forgettable. Just another one of those absentminded touches he’d probably never think twice about.
So why had it stayed with you for the rest of the night?
He’s addictive, the kind that sticks to you and won’t let go. You’ll always come back for more, and it’s not even just for the sex—though that’s a massive part of it.
You'd stay away if he wasn't so damn charming when he wants to be. If he didn't give you those half-ass apologies for being an jerk where you’d forgive him everytime. If he didn't make you feel so fucking good in bed. If you didn’t have a slight crush on him that you know would never work out with how he is. But those good moments make you forget about the bad ones.
And those tattoos… The dark ink winding over his skin was unmistakably Riki—effortlessly cool, impossible to ignore, and somehow always lingering in your mind long after you’d leave his place.
As the night wore on, you found yourself dancing with your friends, the alcohol flowing freely, but you still felt aware. Too aware. You walk to the bar to order another drink before suddenly, a strong pair of arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back into a hard chest. "There you are," Riki's voice slurred a little in your ear, his breath warm and heavy with alcohol.
You immediately knew it was him after feeling the coldness of his rings on your waist. “Riki?”
His dark hair was a little messy, his cheeks slightly flushed, and even from where you stood, you could tell he had something to drink.
Your stomach did that annoying little flip it always seemed to do around him.
For a moment neither of you said anything.
The music thundered around you, people squeezing past on all sides, but somehow it felt like the space between you had narrowed into something private.
You waste no time pulling him in for a kiss. His eyes widen briefly in surprise, but he doesn't pull away. The kiss is messy and sloppy, your coordination off due to the alcohol. He takes control of the kiss immediately, his hand coming up to cup your cheek, holding your head in place as he kisses you back firmly. "Mmph..."
He breaks the kiss abruptly, pulling back to look at you. Your eyes are glassy and unfocused, your cheeks flushed. He lets out a soft sigh, his thumb brushing over your lips. "You're wasted," he states simply.
You give him a look, a faint smile tugging at your lips. "And you're acting like you're completely sober?" You mumble, raising an eyebrow. "Pretty sure we're both a little drunk, Riki."
He smiles slightly, shaking his head. "And you just kissed me out of nowhere." He doesn't sound annoyed or taken aback—just amused and maybe a little fond. "You're never this bold when you're sober." His thumb brushes your lower lip again.
“You taste like weed.”
The corner of his mouth twitched into an amused smile, and he let out a quiet laugh through his nose. “Do I?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.
“Yea,” You gave a small nod, your eyes lingering on him for a second longer than they probably should have. “I thought you weren’t coming tonight. You told Jake you were gonna be busy.”
His gaze drifted away for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The music from inside the club pulsed faintly through the walls as he shifted a little closer.
"That's because I wasn't trying to hang out with everyone."
"Then why were you here?"
For a second, he didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped forward until there was barely any space between you. The warmth of his presence was impossible to ignore, and suddenly your heart felt a little too loud in your chest.
"Riki?"
"I came looking for you."
Your breath caught.
"What?"
"I came looking for you."
This time he said it like it was obvious.
Like it shouldn't have surprised you.
The words settled heavily in your chest.
All night you'd been wondering why he wasn't texting.
Why he wasn't talking to you.
And now he was standing here admitting he'd shown up because of you.
Before you could think of a response, he leaned down slightly.
His lips brushed the side of your neck. A soft kiss that quickly turned into sucking and licking. Which was enough to send a rush of heat straight through you.
You giggle, the sound high and tipsy, and immediately arch into the kiss. You’re clearly not going to stop him right now. He smiles against your neck, kissing gently along your throat. Your hands come up to grip his shoulders, unsteady and clumsy.
He continues kissing down your neck, his hands moving to your hips to keep you steady. He bites gently at the junction of your neck and shoulder, knowing it's a sensitive spot for you. You gasp, your head falling back to give him better access. He takes advantage, sucking a mark onto your skin.
"Okay Riki wait," you mumbled, coming back to your senses through the euphoric feeling of him loving on your body.
He laughed against your skin.
"What?"
"We’re in public…"
"And?"
"People can see us you know."
He pulled back just enough to look at you.
His cheeks were pink from the alcohol, but his eyes were completely focused on yours.
"I don't really care."
"Well I do. I’m not that freaked out."
"I can assure you that you are. You had zero problem letting me fuck you on Jay’s bed for 3 hours at his party and squirting all over his pillow screaming my name-”
Your cheeks flush at the memory. "Shut up. That was different. You were teasing me all night! Plus, that was one time!" You pause, biting your lip before he continues after you cut him off. "And don't act like you didn't enjoy every second of it."
You opened your mouth to argue and up moaning and quickly covering your mouth.
He was looking way too pleased with himself.
You remember that night way too vividly—Jay’s expensive sheets, the fancy pillows, the way Riki folded you in half while everyone was partying downstairs. The way he subtly touched and eye-fucked you whole time made you not wanna wait any longer and fuck him in the first place you thought of, the bedroom, Jays bedroom. And he’d taken his time ruining you.
"See?" he said.
Normally, that would've bothered you more.
Tonight, it didn't.
Maybe it was the alcohol making everything feel warm and distant. Maybe it was the way he was looking at you.
Either way, instead of moving farther, you found yourself leaning closer.
His thumb brushed against your side absentmindedly. “You wanna come to my place?” He pulls at the waistband of your shorts, “Get this off of you, yeah?”
Riki speaking to you like that in his deep voice was always such a turn on for you, your knees already feeling weak.
“Please.”
He didn’t even respond before he had already taken hold of your arm, gently guiding you toward the exit. You barely managed to keep up, your heels catching against the pavement once or twice as you stumbled after him. The cool night air hit your face the second the club doors swung shut, helping clear the slight buzz in your head.
Now, 20 minutes later, after Riki somehow drove you both safely to his penthouse, you’re in his bedroom.
You’d been here more times than you could count, enough to know where everything was without thinking. The room still looked exactly the same as when you last saw it—dark wood furniture, black accents, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. It was clean, organized, and effortlessly expensive, with the faint scent of his cologne and a cigarette still lingering in the air
Riki maneuvered you backward until the backs of your knees hit the mattress, causing you to fall back onto the plush sheets with a soft bounce. He didn't give you a chance to recover, crawling over you immediately, his knees bracketing your hips as he loomed above, his dark eyes heavy with lust and alcohol.
He kisses you deeply, his hands roaming your body. You're responsive and eager, wrapping your legs around his waist without hesitation. He can feel how drunk you are in every touch - sloppy kisses, clumsy fingers trying to pull him closer. He grins against your mouth, taking control.
He reached out, grabbing the hem of your crop top and pulling it up roughly over your head, exposing your bare torso. His hands immediately went to your breasts, squeezing and kneading them as he leaned down to capture your lips in a sloppy, drunk kiss. "Missed these..."
You ride your hands down his chest stopping at the waistband of his jeans. "Missed you too," you whined, reaching for his belt. Your coordination was off from the alcohol, but your desire wasn't. You managed to get his pants open, pushing them down his hips. "Missed this dick specifically, been thinking about it all night.”
He groaned, palming himself through his boxers as your fingers brushed against him. "Fuck—" His head dropped to your neck, teeth grazing your sensitive skin. "You're gonna regret saying shit like that when you're sober."
You tugged at his boxers desperately. "Not gonna regret a thing tonight. Hurry up and fuck me, Riki."
Riki groaned, his thick cock springing free. He reached down and tugged your shorts and panties off in one swift motion, tossing them somewhere across the room. "Greedy little thing," he muttered, positioning himself between your spread thighs.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “Only greedy for you.”
Instead of sliding inside, he pressed the broad head of his cock directly against your slick clit, dragging it slowly up and down. The friction was almost unbearable—your wetness smearing over his tip as he teased you.
"Riki..." you whined, hips bucking upwards. Your hands gripped his shoulders.
"Not yet,"
He continued to tease your clit with his cock, slapping it gently against you before rubbing it up and down your wet folds. You could feel every ridge and vein of his length pressing against your sensitive flesh, driving you wild with need.
Your hips bucked desperately, pushing against him, begging for entry. You were practically dripping wet, your juices slicking his tip with every deliberate stroke. "Riki, please... I'm so fucking wet for you..." You arched off the bed, grinding down on his cock head, trying to force it inside.
He grabbed your hips, holding you still.
His grip was firm as you struggled beneath him, your body aching for release. He leaned down, hot breath ghosting over your neck as he watched your face fall. "No, princess," he murmured, grinding his cock head slowly against your clit again, the slickness helping him slide around your entrance without going in. "We're having fun first, right?"
He brought his thumb down, rubbing circles directly on your clit while his cock continued slapping against it, spreading your juices everywhere. The dual stimulation had you whimpering, your head tossing back against the pillows.
"Look at you," he praised, his voice dark and slurred from the alcohol. "So fucking wet. Dripping all over my cock."
"Fuck me, Riki," you moaned, your hands fisting the sheets as you begged. "Please, please, please... I need your dick inside me... I need to be fucked..." You were so desperate, you were practically crying out for it.
He grinned against your neck, liking when you begged. Without warning, he pushed his thick length inside you in one harsh thrust, filling you completely. You cried out, your body arching off the bed as he bottomed out inside you. "There it is,"
"That sweet fucking pussy taking my dick so well," he muttered, pulling back slowly before snapping his hips forward again, making you whimper. He set a hard pace, his thighs slapping against your inner thighs with every thrust.
You could feel every inch of his long, thick dick moving inside you, hitting your g-spot with precision. Your arms wrapped around his neck, holding onto him as he fucked you mercilessly. He was always like this when you guys had sex. Rough and messy—and you loved it.
His hand found your clit again, rubbing in time with his relentless thrusts. The combination was too much—your body tightening around him, clenching and unclenching as your orgasm began to build.
"That's it," he encouraged, leaning down to whisper harshly against your ear. "Take it. Take all of it, baby."
Your first orgasm hit suddenly—intense and overwhelming. Your inner walls spasmed around his length, clamping down hard as you cried out into his ear. "Riki—!" Your nails dug into his shoulders, causing red lines to appear where his back tattoo is. Your whole body trembles violently as you felt the waves of pleasure crash through you.
Riki felt it immediately—your pussy squeezing his dick.
He groaned loudly, burying his face into your neck as he felt you clench around him. He didn't slow down—instead, he fucked you harder, his thrusts becoming more erratic and desperate.
"That's my girl," he praised, his thumb still rubbing circles on your clit even as your orgasm made you oversensitive. "Fucking milk my cock..."
His body tensed above you, his hips snapping forward one last time before he buried himself deep inside you. He held himself there, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he filled you up with his hot release. You could feel him emptying inside you, coating your walls with his seed.
He collapsed on top of you, both of you panting heavily into the silence of the room. His softening cock was still buried inside you, leaking slowly. He didn't pull out immediately—just stayed there, kissing your neck gently as you both came down from your highs.
After a few minutes, he slowly pulled out of you, his softening length slipping from your pussy with a wet sound. He didn't leave you to clean yourself up—he grabbed a warm cloth from the bathroom and gently wiped away the evidence of his release from between your legs.
He pulled his pants back on, the alcohol making his movements clumsy. He stumbled out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, returning with two large glasses of water. He handed one to you, his expression softer now—the drunken haze clearing slightly.
"Drink," he said, his voice less rough, more like his normal self. "You're probably dehydrated."
You sat up, taking the glass from him and drinking deeply. You set the glass down on the bedside table softly, before he speaks again. "And you should go pee," He walks over to you before hooking his arms under yours and carrying you with your legs wrapped around his waist and his hands on your ass. “I don’t wanna fuck up your coochie health.”
“Please never say that again.”
He chuckles and kicks the bathroom door open and seats you on toilet before leaving and closing the door.
See, this is why you like Riki but know you shouldn’t say anything. You wanna see this as affection so bad but know this means nothing to him.
Riki comes back into the bathroom handing you his shirt and a pair of strawberry boxers. Now he changed into some low rise sweatpants exposing his kiss tattoo and v-line, paired with an open gray hoodie showing off his toned chest and moles on them.
You’ve memorized all the moles on his chest from all the times you’ve seen him shirtless.
You take the clothes from him, your eyes lingering on his exposed tattoos and the hint of his abs peeking out from the low rise sweatpants. You roll your eyes, trying to play it cool even though you're secretly loving the view. "Thanks,"
He leans against the bathroom doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk playing on his lips as he watches you change into his clothes. The strawberry boxers hug your curves perfectly, and his shirt hangs off one shoulder. "You look good in my stuff," he says casually,
You glance up at him, blushing slightly at the compliment. You quickly look away, focusing on folding your own clothes neatly. "Shut up," you mumble, trying to hide the small smile on your face. You step past him to leave the bathroom, but not before intentionally brushing your shoulder against his chest.
He slips into bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. He turns off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. You can feel his body heat radiating towards you as he settles in close, his arm automatically wrapping around your waist and pulling you back against his chest.
"Good night, I’ll take you home tomorrow." he murmured, kissing your neck with that same soft expression before his eyes drifted shut. His breathing grew heavy—quietly snoring in a way that was almost annoying, but in the moment you just let yourself curl against him.
The room fell silent not long after, and before you knew it, the exhaustion from the night finally pulled you to sleep.
Next fic coming October 32nd
Nah I’m playing but I’m kinda (extremely) inconsistent so it might not even come out
Tags for the people who wanted to read this: @ni-kichromeheartzz @lilduckhs @yunahism @gaylawrd
The practice room was empty except for the two of you, the mirrors reflecting the exhaustion on your face as you slumped against the wall. You had stayed behind again, determined to perfect the choreography before tomorrow’s evaluation. The other trainees had already left, whispering about the company’s mistake—why debut someone so weak? Why not pick someone with greater talents, who could actually keep up? Every tendon stood in stark relief beneath sweat-sheened skin as you fought to maintain your position, toes curled under with painful precision, your knee locked at that exact 15-degree angle the choreography demanded. A single droplet of sweat traced a slow, torturous path down the back of your knee, tickling as it meandered through the hollow behind your joint before disappearing into the damp fabric of your leggings.
Only one pair of eyes remained, watching from the doorway.
The scent of his cologne arrived before he did–bergamot and something faintly smoky that cut through the stale practice room air like a knife. Sunghoon leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you stumble with a faint smirk. "You're collapsing at the ribcage," his voice dripped like honey laced with cyanide. Cool fingers slid beneath the sweat-drenched fabric of your crop top, pressing mercilessly against the fluttering muscles of your abdomen. "Right here." His thumbnail dug into the space between your ribs with surgical precision, making you gasp as the sharp pain radiated through your body.
The mirrors caught every microexpression - the way your eyelashes fluttered, how your lower lip caught momentarily between your teeth, still bearing the indents of previous failures. His other hand came up to grab hold of your jaw, calloused fingertips leaving faint pink trails in their wake as they traced the tendon standing rigid in your neck.
"Hold," he commanded, breath ghosting across your damp forehead. The warm weight of his palm settled against the small of your back, fingers splaying possessively across the sweat-slicked dip of your spine. Every exhale pressed you tighter against his guiding hand, the heat of his touch searing through the thin fabric of your lousy practice clothes.
A rivulet of sweat trailed from your hairline down the delicate curve of your nose before hanging precariously from its tip, suspended like a dewdrop on a petal.
"Again," he murmured, stepping closer until his chest nearly brushed your back. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, guiding your arm into position with a firmness that brooked no argument. "You're dropping your elbow. It makes you look weak."
You could feel his breath against your ear, the way his lips curled into a smirk when you shivered. His other hand slid down to your hip, gripping hard enough to leave bruises. "Tighter," he commanded, pressing you into the correct stance. "You want them to see you as more than just a pretty face, don't you?"
The first time he stayed late to "help" you, you thought it was simply an act of kindness. Now, you knew better. His corrections came with a price. The way his fingers lingered too long, the way his eyes darkened when you gasped from the pain of overworked muscles.
But you didn’t stop him.
Because under his ruthless guidance, you certainly improved. The hate comments ceased. HYBE’s executives started nodding approvingly during evaluations. And when you finally debuted, it wasn’t as the weak trainee they’d mocked—it was as the group’s centre, the one fans couldn’t look away from even if they tried.
Tonight, his fingers tightened around your wrist, twisting just enough to make your breath hitch. "You're still sloppy," he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. The scent of his cologne mixed with the salt of your sweat, heady and intoxicating. His free hand slid down your side, fingertips pressing into the dip of your waist before gripping hard enough to make you whimper. "You think this is good enough?"
The mirrors reflected the flush creeping up your neck, the way your chest rose and fell too fast. His thumb traced the delicate bones of your wrist, pressing against the pulse point there—too hard, just shy of painful. "Again," he ordered, voice low. "From the top."
You moved through the choreography, muscles screaming, every correction burned into your skin by his touch. His hands were everywhere—adjusting your posture, forcing your chin higher, fingers digging into your hips to correct the angle of your stance. Each touch lingered, possessive, as if he owned every inch of you.
"Better," he conceded, though his tone suggested it wasn’t praise so much as reluctant acknowledgment. His palm slid up your spine, fingers tangling in the damp hair at the nape of your neck. "But you're still thinking too much." His grip tightened, tilting your head back until you were forced to meet his gaze in the mirror. "Stop trying to be perfect. Just feel it."
His other hand slipped beneath the hem of your crop top, fingertips skating over the overheated skin of your stomach. You shuddered, muscles clenching under his touch.
"See?" His lips curled into something sharp, predatory. "You know what you're doing. You just need to stop fighting yourself."
The music pulsed through the speakers, the bass vibrating in your chest. His breath was hot against your neck as he guided you through the motions, his body pressed flush against yours, every movement synchronised. His fingers tightened on your hip, pulling you back against him with a roughness that made your knees weak.
The mirrors caught the way your lips parted, the way his darkened gaze never left your reflection. His hand slid lower, fingers tracing the waistband of your leggings before gripping hard enough to make you gasp.
His fingers didn't loosen—if anything, they dug deeper, imprinting crescent moons through the thin fabric. The air conditioning kicked on, sending a chill across your sweat-slicked skin that made you shiver violently against him. You felt his smirk against your shoulder before teeth grazed the tendon there.
"Scared?" His voice was velvet wrapped around steel. One hand slid up to your throat, not squeezing—just resting, his thumb pressing gently against your frantic pulse.
The mirrors showed everything. How your pupils dilated when his free hand slipped beneath your waistband. How his knuckles brushed lower, teasing, while his mouth traced the shell of your ear. "You want to be perfect?" A sharp nip to your earlobe. "Then take it."
The door handle rattled.
He didn't move. Didn't even tense. Just watched in the mirror as the handle stilled, as footsteps retreated down the hallway. His chuckle vibrated through your back. "They know better than to interrupt." His fingers flexed against your throat—just once—before releasing you abruptly.
You stumbled forward, catching yourself against the mirrored wall. Your reflection showed flushed skin, swollen lips, and the imprint of his grip already darkening at your hips.
He adjusted his sleeves, "Again. From the beginning."
The speakers crackled as the track restarted, the bass vibrating through the floorboards and up your trembling legs. Sunghoon didn’t touch you this time—just circled like a predator. You could feel his gaze, tracing every imperfect angle of your body.
"Slower," he commanded, voice rough. "Stop rushing."
You forced your movements to drag, muscles burning with the effort of control. Sweat dripped from your chin onto the hardwood.
He stepped closer, close enough that his breath ghosted over your collarbones. "You’re still holding back." A fingertip trailed down your spine, making you arch instinctively. "I can see it in your shoulders. In the way you hesitate." His hand fisted in your hair, wrenching your head back. "Break. Or I’ll break you."
The threat coiled low in your stomach. Your next spin was reckless. Your ankle twisted. You gasped, stumbling.
He caught you effortlessly, one arm banded around your waist, the other gripping your thigh where it hooked over his hip. His lips brushed the frantic pulse at your throat. "There you are."
The mirrors reflected his triumph—your ruined practice clothes, his fingers splayed possessively across your bare stomach, the way your body moulded to his as it belonged there.
The recording booth was cramped, barely large enough for the microphone and a single chair—but Sunghoon made space for himself anyway, pressing you back against the foam-padded wall until the ridges dug into your shoulder blades. His thigh slid between yours without ceremony, the crisp fabric of his designer slacks rough against your bare skin where your skirt had ridden up.
"You keep choking on the ad-libs," he murmured, fingers tracing the column of your throat. They lingered over your fluttering pulse, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch.
"You need to feel the notes, not force them." His free hand dipped lower, skirting under the hem of your blouse to tease the sensitive dip of your waist.
A ragged whimper escaped you—exactly the pitch the vocal coach had been drilling into you all week.
Sunghoon's eyes darkened. "There it is." His palm slid up your ribs, thumb brushing the underside of your breast through the thin lace of your bra. "Again."
The demo track crackled through the headphones abandoned around your neck. Your voice wavered as his fingers pinched your nipple, the sharp sting ricocheting straight to your core.
"P-please—"
"Hit the note." His teeth sank into your shoulder, muffling your cry as his other hand slipped past the waistband of your panties.
Your thighs clenched around his wrist as his fingers found your slick heat. The headphones slipped further down your neck, the demo track’s beat syncing with the rough circles he traced against your clit.
"Sing," he growled, his breath hot against your ear.
You gasped, your voice cracking as he pushed two fingers inside you, curling them just enough to make your hips jerk. The sound that tore from your throat was raw, unfiltered—nothing that could be used in the song.
Sunghoon smirked. "Perfect." His fingers worked faster, his thumb pressing harder against your clit. "Now hold it."
You whimpered, your body trembling as the pleasure coiled tighter. He twisted his wrist, dragging his fingers deeper. "Don’t stop."
Your voice broke on a moan as you came, your nails digging into his forearm.
Sunghoon pulled his hand free, glistening fingers pressing against your parted lips. "Again."
Your lips parted instinctively, tongue darting out to lick the taste of yourself from his fingers. The salt-sweet tang made your thighs press together again, still throbbing from your climax. Sunghoon’s smirk deepened as he dragged his damp fingertips down your chin, leaving a glistening trail along your throat.
"Good girl," he murmured, voice rough. "But we’re not done."
His hand slid back down your body, fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties and yanking them down your thighs. The cool air of the studio kissed your bare skin, but his touch was hotter—palm smacking against your ass in a sharp, stinging crack. You yelped, arching into him, but he caught your hip, forcing you still against the edge of the mixing console.
"One more take," he ordered, fingers spreading you open. "And this time—" His thumb circled your clit again, slow and cruel. "You don’t come until I say."
The demo track’s beat played faintly from the headphones slumped down your neck, but all you could hear was your own ragged breathing as he pushed inside you again, relentless.
Your fingers scrambled against the console, knuckles white as Sunghoon fucked you with his hand, each thrust deliberate and punishing. "Almost there," he taunted, curling his fingers just right—the spot that made your vision blur. Your hips bucked, desperate, but he pinned you down with his free arm across your lower back. "Not yet."
His teeth grazed your earlobe as his thumb pressed harder against your clit, the pressure toeing the line between pleasure and pain. You choked on a sob, your thighs shaking with the effort to hold back.
Sunghoon chuckled darkly, his breath hot against your neck. "Now."
The command snapped something inside you. You came with a shattered cry, your body clenching around his fingers as waves of pleasure ripped through you. He didn’t let up, working you through it until your legs gave out—until you were slumped against the console, gasping.
He pulled his hand away, slick fingers tapping idly against your hip. "Better."
Your knees trembled as you tried to steady yourself against the console, but Sunghoon wasn’t finished. With a rough grip on your waist, he spun you around, pressing your back against the edge of the desk. His dark eyes raked over you—lips parted, chest heaving, skirt bunched at your hips—before he dropped to his knees.
A whimper escaped you as his hands slid under your thighs, lifting them over his shoulders. His breath ghosted over your soaked skin before his tongue dragged a slow, torturous stripe up your slit.
"Fuck—" Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging as his mouth closed over your clit, sucking hard. The demo track’s beat was long forgotten, replaced by the filthy, wet sounds of his tongue working you open.
He pulled back just enough to growl, "Louder." Then his tongue plunged inside you, fucking you deep as his thumb circled your clit.
You arched off the desk with a broken scream, your thighs clamping around his head as another orgasm tore through you. Sunghoon didn’t stop—licking, sucking, drinking you in until your legs shook too badly to hold yourself up.
When he finally stood, his lips glistened, his smirk victorious. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes locked on yours.
"On your knees," he murmured, voice rough.
You sank to the floor, the studio carpet rough against your bare skin. His cock was already hard again, jutting toward you, glistening at the tip. You didn’t wait for the command this time—your tongue flicked out, tracing the swollen vein along the underside before taking him deep.
His groan was ragged, his hips jerking forward as your lips stretched around him. One hand fisted in your hair, guiding your pace, while the other traced the curve of your spine, fingertips pressing just hard enough to make you shiver.
"Faster," he gritted out.
You hollowed your cheeks, sucking hard as he fucked into your mouth, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat with every thrust. Your own arousal was a dull, insistent throb between your thighs, but you knew better than to touch yourself—not unless he allowed it.
His grip tightened, his breathing uneven. "Look at me, my rookie."
Your lashes fluttered up, meeting his darkened gaze as he watched himself disappear between your lips. The sight seemed to unravel him—his hips stuttered, his release spilling hot and bitter down your throat. You swallowed greedily, your tongue lapping at him until he pulled away with a sharp inhale.
Sunghoon dragged his thumb over your bottom lip, catching the stray drop of cum before pressing it back into your mouth.
"Good girl."
The music show greenroom buzzed with the usual pre-recording chaos, stylists adjusting idols’ hemlines, managers barking last-minute reminders at the top of their laughs and idols exchanging polite nods. All you could hear though, were the whispers.
"Did you see her fancam views?""No way she was that bad before—it’s gotta be editing."
You pretended not to hear, smoothing your skirt as you checked your reflection. Six months ago, you’d been the punchline of every variety show gag reel—the tone-deaf rookie who couldn’t keep up in dance rehearsals. Now, your face sold out cosmetics collaborations, lighting up every billboard in a 5 metre radius.
A familiar hand settled on the small of your back. "Nervous?" Sunghoon’s voice was all honey, but his fingers dug in just enough to remind you.
You met his gaze in the mirror. "Should I be?"
His smirk was razor-sharp. The stylists had left his collar undone, exposing the faint bruise you’d sucked into his collarbone last night—after he’d made you beg for your high note.
The stage manager’s voice crackled through the speakers. "Five minutes to recording."
Sunghoon leaned in, lips brushing your ear. "Make it hurt, baby."
The lights hit blinding as you stepped onto the stage, the screams deafening. You smiled—sweet, innocent, the nation’s princess—and let the bass thrum through your veins.
His eyes burned hotter than the spotlights.
The encore trophy was still warm in your hands when he cornered you in the empty stairwell, his palm slamming against the wall beside your head.
"Did you see the comments?" His free hand slid up your thigh, hiking your skirt. "‘She’s perfection.’" His teeth grazed your pulse point. "‘Born for this.’"
You gasped as his fingers found your bare cunt—no panties, just like he’d ordered.
"Tell me," he breathed, circling your clit, "who made you?"
Your hips jerked. "Y-you did."
His laugh was dark. "Again."
His fingers curled inside you, pressing ruthlessly against that sweet spot as his other hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back. "Louder," he demanded.
The trophy clattered to the ground as your hands scrambled against the stairwell wall, the metal cool against your feverish skin.
"You did," you gasped, arching into his touch. "Only you—"
Sunghoon’s mouth crashed onto yours, swallowing your moan as his fingers worked you faster. He could feel your thighs trembling, the way your body clenched around him—proof of how well he’d trained you. Breaking the kiss, he nipped at your jaw.
"Prove it."
He dropped to his knees right there in the stairwell, pushing your skirt up around your waist before dragging his tongue through your slick folds. You muffled a cry with the back of your hand, but he pulled it away.
"I said louder."
His tongue flicked your clit mercilessly, his grip bruising on your hips to keep you from squirming. The distant echo of staff chatter and footsteps only made your pulse spike higher—anyone could walk in, could see their perfect rookie idol falling apart under her sunbae’s tongue.
Sunghoon hummed against you, sending vibrations through your core as his fingers plunged deeper. "Gonna come already? After just this?"
You whimpered, nodding desperately.
He pulled back just enough to watch your face as you shattered—the way your lips parted in silent ecstasy, the flutter of your lashes before they squeezed shut—then stood abruptly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Good girl," he murmured, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. "Now get back out there before they miss their princess."
He stepped around you, adjusting himself with a smirk as he descended the stairs. You were still catching your breath when his voice drifted up from below—
"Again tomorrow."
The dorm bathroom was too small for four girls to share, but you'd learned to move fast—hot water rationed in three-minute bursts, makeup and skincare passed between you all, anything to look your best at all times
Tonight, though, you had it to yourself.
Steam curled around your bare shoulders as you pressed your forehead to the fogged mirror, fingertips skating over the tender skin of your inner thighs. Every shower since debut had become a ritual—rushing through the first wash to appease your manager, then lingering under the scalding spray until your fingers found that familiar, guilty rhythm.
Your phone buzzed on the sink.
Leeseo: "Unnieee I left my exfoliator in there pls don't use it all 😭"
"Yah, hurry up!" Your leader's voice carried through the thin wood. "I have a 6AM radio call!"
You swallowed your frustrated whimper, twisting the tap shut. The mirror cleared just enough to show your reflection—flushed cheeks, dreary smile greeting you back.
You wrapped yourself in a towel and reached for the door.
The dorm’s living room hummed with the comfortable exhaustion that always followed music show promotions. The coffee table was littered with half-empty takeout containers - lukewarm tteokbokki sauce congealing in its cardboard, discarded disposable chopsticks resting across bowl rims.
One of your members sprawled across the entire couch, her damp hair leaving dark spots on the cushions as she lazily scrolled through her phone. Another sat curled in the armchair, methodically removing her stage eyelashes with practised fingers. You rubbed your towel-dried hair absentmindedly, the strands catching on your rings as you reached for the last cold piece of mandu. The oil had turned opaque against the cardboard, but you popped it in your mouth anyway, the gummy texture sticking to your teeth.
"Sunghoon sunbaenim's encore fancam views jumped another hundred thousand since we got back," the maknae announced, swinging her legs over the couch armrest. Her socked feet brushed against the takeout bags on the floor. "That close-up when he adjusted his in-ear at 2:13 - the comments are calling it 'visual terrorism.'"
Your tongue pressed against the roof of your mouth, chasing the lingering chilli oil burn as you stared at the muted TV screen. Some variety show played silently - idols laughing with their heads thrown back, exaggerated reactions that you'd learned to replicate during trainee days.
"At this rate, he'll surpass his solo cam from last comeback," Yujin said around a yawn, stretching until her crop top rode up to expose the darkening bruise from today's belt accessory. "The editors better not give us bad angles tomorrow to compensate."
Leeseo gasped suddenly, nearly dropping her phone. "Wait - is that...?" She turned the screen toward you, the bright glare reflecting in your eyes. "Unnie, your ratio is actually higher than his now!"
You blinked at the numbers swimming on the screen - your fancam view counts stacked neatly beside Sunghoon's, the percentages glowing stark in the dim room. The last bite of mandu turned to paste in your mouth.
"Our unnie becoming the nation's princess," Liz teased, kicking her feet onto your lap. The soles of her socks were still slightly grubby from stage marks. "Next, you'll tell us you have a secret dance cover channel too."
You forced a laugh that came out more breath than sound, fingers plucking at the loose thread on your sweatpants.
The TV screen flickered as the variety show cut to a commercial - sudden bright colours illuminating the room in flashes. A cosmetics ad featuring none other than Sunghoon's face filled the screen, his perfect smile gleaming under studio lights.
"Ugh, not this again," groaned Wonyoung. "I swear they play this exact ad package every fifteen minutes!"
When your phone buzzed in your pocket, you hesitated before checking it under the guise of adjusting your sweatpants.
Sunghoon: Third floor. Storage room. Now.
You cleared your throat. "I think I left my AirPods in the practice room earlier."
Yujin didn't look up from her phone. "Manager-hyung said no leaving the dorm after—"
"It's just downstairs!" You forced a laugh that came out too high. "Five minutes, I swear."
Liz’s gaze flickered up, her lash glue stick hovering mid-air. "Bring me my hoodie from the vocal room if you're going."
The elevator doors slid shut with a quiet hum, enclosing you in. You watched the numbers descend, each floor passing with a soft ping. The ride was agonisingly slow, every passing second tightening the knot in your stomach. When the doors slid open, the third-floor hallway stretched before you. Practice rooms, equipment storage, the small studio where you'd first—
A hand grabbed your wrist and yanked you sideways.
The supply room door clicked shut behind you. Then the unmistakable press of a body against yours, the familiar scent of expensive cologne beneath sweat and stage makeup.
"You came." Sunghoon's voice was low, amused. His fingers traced your jawline in the dark. "Thought your manager put you on lockdown."
Your back hit a shelf as he stepped closer, sending a box of guitar picks clattering to the floor. Somewhere outside, a janitor's cart rolled past.
"They... They think I'm getting my earphones," you whispered.
His chuckle vibrated against your neck as his lips grazed your pulse point. "Bad girl."
The doorknob rattled.
"Hello?" A staff member's voice called through the door. "Anyone in there?"
Sunghoon's hand slid over your mouth, his other arm caging you against the shelves. His breath was hot against your temple.
The door handle jiggled again.
Then—footsteps walking away.
His teeth sank into your shoulder the moment they faded, muffling your gasp.
"Next time," he murmured against your skin, fingers already working at your waistband, "come faster."
His fingers hooked into the waistband of your sweatpants, tugging just hard enough to make your breath hitch. You whimpered against his palm as he yanked the fabric down your thighs, his mouth trailing down your neck.
"You used to tremble just holding a mic," he mused, biting the sensitive spot behind your ear. "Now look at you—the centre of every performance." His free hand slipped between your legs, fingertips pressing against the damp fabric of your panties. "You’re still shaking, though."
The teasing pressure of his fingers made your hips jerk forward instinctively, seeking more. He chuckled darkly, dragging his teeth along your collarbone before pulling back just enough to watch you squirm. "Always so eager," he murmured, hooking his fingers into the lace of your panties and peeling them down slowly, letting the damp fabric catch on your thighs before finally letting them drop.
His palm pressed flat against your bare skin, fingers splaying possessively over your heat. "Tell me," he demanded, his voice rough. "Tell me how much you want it."
You gasped as his thumb circled your clit, the friction maddeningly light. "Please—"
"Please, what?" His fingers dipped lower, tracing your entrance without pushing in. "You’re the star now, sweetheart. Use your words."
A whine tore from your throat as he finally gave you what you wanted, two fingers sliding deep in one smooth stroke. Your back arched off the wall, nails digging into his shoulders as he set a relentless pace, his other hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.
"You look perfect like this," he growled against your lips. "All mine."
His free hand tangled in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your throat as his fingers worked you deeper, harder. The rough drag of his calloused fingertips sent sparks up your spine, every thrust pressing against that sweet spot inside until your legs trembled.
"You’re close," he muttered, biting down on your shoulder. "I can feel you squeezing me." His thumb pressed firm circles against your clit, relentless, his breath hot against your ear.
"C’mon, let me hear it."
The coil in your stomach snapped—your back bowed, a ragged moan tearing free as he fucked you through the waves, dragging out every last shudder. He didn’t stop until you were gasping, oversensitive, fingers clutching at his wrist.
For a moment, neither of you moved, then Sunghoon stepped back first.
"We should go before someone starts looking for us."
You nodded, unable to trust your voice.
He opened the door and glanced down the empty corridor before motioning for you to follow. The building was nearly deserted by the time you reached the elevators. Sunghoon pressed the call button, and the doors slid open with a soft chime.
You stepped inside together.
Neither spoke. The digital numbers ticked upward, the soft hum of machinery the only sound, then the elevator lurched.
Lights flickered. A sharp, mechanical groan shuddered through the walls before everything plunged into darkness.
You gasped, instinctively reaching out for support. Your palms landed against Sunghoon's chest. He caught your wrists immediately, steadying you. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips.
"Manager didn't tell you?" His voice was low, carrying a hint of amusement. "This thing's been faulty for weeks."
You swallowed hard. "Shouldn't we call someone?"
"They know. They'll come." His thumb traced a slow circle against your wrist. "Eventually."
You knew you should step back, but something about Sunghoon just kept reeling you in, despite your greatest efforts to resist it. His grip tightened slightly, drawing you closer.
The emergency lights flickered on—
and the sudden blare of an alarm shattered the moment.
The doors wrenched open halfway, revealing the horrified face of a security guard and, behind him, a group of staff with cameras still rolling from the company's late-night vlog shoot.
You recoiled, but it was already too late.
Sunghoon had turned away, adjusting his collar with practised ease.
The video spread faster than anyone could stop it.
"Newly Debuted Idol Traps Sunghoon in Elevator—Scandal Goes Viral"
“Did Favouritism Help Create K-Pop's Newest It Girl?”
The internet tore you apart. Sunghoon’s manager released a careful statement asking fans to respect his privacy while emphasising his professionalism. Your manager stayed silent. And for the first time since your debut, you discovered how quickly the industry could turn on the girl it had spent months worshipping.
Only a week ago, your face had been everywhere.
Magazine covers praised your charisma. Entertainment journalists called you the future of the fourth generation. Viral clips of your performances accumulated millions of views overnight, accompanied by endless comments analysing your stage presence, your visuals, and your potential. The top brands competed for your attention. Variety shows invited you back repeatedly. Every achievement was framed as evidence of your talent, your determination, your inevitable rise.
Now, every achievement that had once been celebrated became evidence against you.
The vocal improvements that critics had praised as proof of your dedication were suddenly attributed to preferential treatment. The opportunities you had earned through years of training were reframed as favours. Even your popularity, which had previously been explained through some combination of charisma, beauty, timing, and talent, became suspect, transformed overnight into the product of invisible advantages that nobody had mentioned until the precise moment it became convenient to do so. It was as though thousands of strangers had collectively decided that your story had always been too straightforward and were now correcting what they perceived as an oversight, replacing reality with a version more dramatic, more satisfying, and therefore more believable.
And despite everything—the humiliation, the anger, the endless stream of headlines reducing your life to a scandal—you found that the thought capable of hurting you most was not that the public hated you.
It was the growing possibility that Sunghoon had chosen to save himself.
And in doing so, had decided you were something he could afford to lose.
In which : you have been seeing niki for 5 months now , you know his fg like your jeans pocket. He has always been a cheater and a toxic boy , but what can you do?? It's not like you're dating.
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In which : you have been seeing niki for 5 months now , you know his fg like your jeans pocket. He has always been a cheater and a toxic boy , but what can you do?? It's not like you're dating.
mae notes :: everyone k*ll niki 😭😭 if i had a boy who would kick me out and act like nothing happened later I'll kms
in which a ni-ki fanpage constantly posts on-point predictions on twitter, and her sources are none other than her close personal friend, nishimura riki. no, seriously— they know each other.
pairing idol!riki x fanpage!female reader genre crack, smau, established relationship warnings suggestive jokes, profanity, ot6 jokes, heeseung slander icl — note I LOVE HEESEUNG. THIS IS MY COPIUM. i love my seven please don’t get this twisted im just girl joking around… take the ot6 jokes with a grain of salt and sunshine
ᥫ᭡. Very specific genre for a VERY SPECIFIC AUDIENCE therefore
⚠️‼️Mdni‼️⚠️
ᥫ᭡. 18+
ᥫ᭡. Smut
ᥫ᭡. Songs
•Backshots - Swae
•Headshot - ptasinski & RJ Pasin
•Heaven - Julia Michaels
•Wet the bed - Chr*s Br*wn ft Ludacris
•Feel something - Chr*s Br*wn
•Candy shop - 50 cent ft Olivia
•Drunk in love - Beyoncè ft J*yZ
•Slow Down - Chase Atlantic
•Church - Chase Atlantic
•Tidal Wave - Chase Atlantic
•When we - Tank
•Pillowtalk - ZAYN
•Chaconne - ENHYPEN
•Girl with the tattoo - Miguel
•Why'd you only call me when you're high? - Arctic Monkeys
•R U Mine - Arctic Monkeys
•Nasty - Ariana Grande
•off the table - Ariana Grande & The Weeknd
•Everyday - Ariana Grande ft Future
•Living room flow - Jhenè Aiko
•Shirt - SZA
•One night only - Sonder
•Care - Sonder
•Void - The Neighbourhood
•Poison - Brent Faiyaz
•All mine - Brent Faiyaz
•Kiss it better - Rihanna
•Needed Me - Rihanna
•Talk 2 me - Montell Fish
•Altitude - Montell Fish
•Bathroom - Montell Fish
•Destroy myself just for you - Montell Fish
•Girls need love - Summer Walker
•Morning - Teyana Taylor ft Kehlani
ᥫ᭡. Tags (open but please follow to be part of the list ✨): @vanishingnana @kittyyhoon
The bell above the door chimed a tinny, hollow sound that did nothing to soothe the spike of irritation thrumming under Kira's skin. She hated changing her routine. She hated having to outsource something as intimate as skin modification to a stranger, but her regular artist had a six-month waiting list, and this downtown parlor advertised a rare, last-minute tat session. Kira just wanted the ink done. The finality of it. She wanted to look down at her hip and see something beautiful and entirely hers. A fresh start. A sharp contrast to the chaotic, fractured mess her life has been since the breakup eight months ago. She never thought about him in weeks. She actively trained her brain to treat his memory like a ghost town, assuming he did what he always threatened to do: pack up his machines and move three countries away to escape the suffocating weight of his own head.
Then she heard it. A low, gravelly and completely unmistakable grunt from the back corner chair, shielded partially by a heavy velvet curtain.
Kira froze, her breath catching in her throat. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."
The curtain was nudged aside with the blunt end of an elbow. Riki looked up. The heavy, industrial coils of his tattoo machine whined down to a low hum, the needle hovering mere millimeters above a customer's half-shaded forearm. His expression didn't shatter. Riki was a man built out of granite and pure spite, a permanent scowl etched into the sharp, hard lines of his brows. But she saw the exact second the recognition hit him. His jaw clenched so hard a corded muscle leaped in his throat, and his dark eyes narrowed into slits of pure, unadulterated ice. He didn't say a single word. He just stared at her, the silence stretching between them like a tightrope over a canyon, heavy with the suffocating weight of everything they burned to the ground.
Kira's instinct was to bolt. She was normally the carefree one, the sweet, chilled-out presence who smoothed over Riki's jagged edges, but the sheer toxicity of their relationship left her cautious, guarded and fiercely stubborn. She already paid a non-refundable hundred and fifty-dollar deposit and she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of fleeing. When she turned to the receptionist, the poor girl looked like she wanted to swallow her own tongue, awkwardly skimming through the shop's schedule book. "Uh…yeah, so our other tattooist Heeseung called in sick for today. It's...it's Riki's chair....or we can rebook you in about three weeks."
"I'm staying." Kira said, her voice dropping an octave.
Riki didn't break eye contact as he finished the final line on his current customer's arm. The moment the man left the shop, Riki stood up, towering and imposing in his black denim, his movements detached. He tore off his contaminated gloves, threw them into the biohazard bin with a wet snap, and walked over to the stainless-steel sink. He washed his hands without a word, the harsh scent of green soap filling the air, the rhythmic scrubbing acting as a countdown to the inevitable collision. When he finally walked over to his station, he didn't offer a greeting. He just held out a gloved hand for her design.
Kira handed him the crumpled paper. It was a picture of a lily. White lilies were traditionally symbols of rebirth, fresh beginnings and the cleansing of the past. But this lily was particularly unique because she asked for the edges of the petals to be slightly frayed, bleeding into sharp, geometric lines with the word Sovereign drawn over it. It was meant to go on her lower hip, curving just above the lace of her panty line, a declaration that her body belonged to no one but herself.
Riki looked at the stencil. He smirked. Just once, a bitter, knowing twist of his lips before he wiped it clean off of his face, his professional mask locking back into place. "You sure about this? That's a pretty sensitive area."
"Just do it, asshole." Kira shot back, her voice a dangerous purr.
Riki didn't argue with her. He prepared the site, his movements clinical but tense. When Kira hopped onto the high leather chair, leaning back and pulling the waistband of her jeans down just far enough to expose the soft curve of her hip, the air in the room thinned. Riki prepped the skin with alcohol. It was cold, a stark contrast to the sudden heat radiating from his body as he leaned in. He kept his boundaries professional for the first five minutes, his gloves, stencil alignment and the initial bite of the needle tearing into her flesh. Kira locked her jaw, refusing to give him a sound, focusing entirely on the burning sensation of the ink entering her dermis.
But as the minutes bled into a heavy, agonizing half-hour, the professional distance disintegrated. Riki leaned in closer than necessary, his broad shoulders blocking out the lights of the shop, trapping her in his shadow. His breath, warm and smelling faintly of mint and cannabis, ghosted over the bare skin of her stomach. Every time he reached for a paper towel to wipe away the excess ink and blood, his knuckles brushed deliberately against the sensitive, hyper-reactive skin just above her crotch. He called it "expanding the canvas," but they both knew the truth. He was reclaiming the territory. His thumb pressed firmly against her pelvic bone, adjusting her position, his touch lingering a second too long, always sliding just a fraction of an inch under the material of her underwear.
Kira was furious. She was humiliated by her body's betrayal. Because despite the hatred boiling in her chest, the proximity was doing exactly what it used to do: lighting a fire between her thighs. She could feel the heavy, thumping ache deep in her pussy, a wetness pooling against the cotton of her panties. She knew he noticed. He noticed every single time her thighs pressed together involuntarily and every sharp, hitching inhale she took when his hand grazed her, every tremor of her abdominal muscles.
Riki knew her body better than he knew his own. He knew exactly what he was doing to her.
Kira tried desperately to ignore it, pulling out her phone and scrolling mindlessly, her teeth grinding together so hard her temples ached. The silence between them was a living, breathing thing. It felt suffocating. Finally, Riki broke it. His voice wasn't cold. It dropped into that quiet and rough, almost gentle register he only used when they were alone, stripped of their armor.
"Quit being so nervous and stay still."
Kira snapped, locking her phone and glaring down at the hair on his head. "I can't if you keep doing that on purpose."
Riki paused the needle. The sudden silence of the machine was deafening. He slowly lifted his head, looking up at her from where he sat perched between her parted legs. His dark eyes were burning, completely stripped of his usual nonchalant indifference. "Doing what Kira?"
"Being...close. Stop."
"I'm doing my job, genius..." He murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips before snapping back to her eyes. The ridiculous lie hung in the humid air between them and neither of them bought it.
He lowered his head again, finishing the final shading of the lily. The needle dragged across her skin, a beautiful pain that felt like an exorcism and an invitation all at once.
The hum of the tattoo machine finally died, leaving a heavy, suffocating silence in the shop. The air smelled of rubbing alcohol and blood. Riki didn't pull away immediately. He sat on his low stool, trapped between her parted legs, staring down at the fresh, angry red welt on her hip. He used a piece of green-soap-soaked paper towel to wipe away the excess ink and the tiny beads of blood rising to the surface of the lily. His touch was firm, pushing into her skin just hard enough to sting and make her hips twitch.
"A lily huh?" He started, his voice a deep rasp that cut through the quiet. He didn't look up at her face yet. His thumb traced the swollen contour of the petals, pressing just hard enough to make her inhale sharply. "Rebirth. Clean slate. That's what this means, right? You look up the meanings online or something?"
Kira locked her jaw, her fingers gripping the edges of the leather chair. "It means whatever I want it to mean, Riki. Just wrap it up so I can leave."
"You're trying to wash your hands of me. That's what it means..." He countered directly, his eyes finally snapping up to meet hers, dark and turbulent. "...you wanted Heeseung to do it, but you got stuck with me because you can't get rid of me that easily, Kira. It's a joke, putting this on your skin. You think a flower could wash away your sins and change the fact that we practically burned each other alive?"
"Oh God not this again..." Kira whispered rolling her eyes, her voice lacked its usual lightness. It trembled. "....this is me moving on. I wanted something beautiful. Something that wasn't toxic like us. I'm actually glad I left your ass so I no longer have to deal with your childishness. Finish up so I can get out of here."
Riki let out a harsh, cynical breath, his thumb running over the word Sovereign freshly carved into her skin. "Beautiful? Kira look at it. It's bleeding. It's a white lily, but it's stained with your blood and my ink. That's our entire fucking relationship. You wanted a clean slate. To start over, but you came back to the one person who you claimed 'destroyed your life'. You can't separate the beauty from the damage. This bullshit doesn't mean anything. You're a hypocrite."
Kira's chest heaved, his words cutting deeper than the needles ever could. The sheer paradox of it paralyzed her. He was right. She sought out an act of rebirth, but by a twisted stroke of fate, she delivered her canvas to the executioner of her terrible past. Their love was never, ever gentle. It was a beautiful, volatile disaster, much like the frayed, bleeding edges she requested on the petals. Kira wanted to be free of Riki, yet she just allowed him to permanently alter her flesh, binding his craftsmanship to her body for the rest of her life.
"Moving on doesn't look like this..." Riki murmured, his gaze dropping to her mouth, then back to the fresh wound. "...you're shaking. You've been shaking since you sat down. And I know it's not because of the needle."
"God you're a narcissist!" She shot back, though there was no real venom in it, only desperation. "...you think everything revolves around you."
"When it comes to this skin? Yeah, I do." Riki said, his voice dropping an octave as he stood up, his massive frame instantly looming over her, trapping her against the backrest of the chair. He tore off his latex gloves and threw them into the bin. He leaned in, placing one hand on the armrest beside her head, his face centimetres away from hers. "...do you hate me?"
"I do." She breathed, her heart hammering against her ribs, the proximity making her dizzy.
"Good. Because I hate you too..." He confessed, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle leaped in his throat. His façade completely cracked, revealing the raw vulnerability he only ever showed her. "...I hate that you walked out on us. I hate that I can't sleep because the bed feels too big. And I fucking hate that you came into my shop with that stupid sketch looking for a clean slate." He mocked. "You're basically saying that you and I are completely through. It pisses me off. You're making me want to ruin you all over again."
Kira looked up at him, the walls she built up over the last eight months crumbling under the intensity of his gaze. She didn't want the clean slate anymore. She wanted the feeling of excitement that came with the chaos he brought to her life. She reached up, her fingers tangling in the collar of his black shirt, pulling him down.
"What's stopping you then." She whispered.
Riki's mouth crashed into hers with a rough, desperate violence that shattered any remaining illusion of hatred. It was a punishing, bruising kiss that confessed everything Riki's pride never would:
I hate you.
I hate how much I need you.
I haven't slept a full night since you walked out.
I still see your legs wrapped around my neck every time I close my eyes.
His dick throbbed harder now. Kira let out a groan into his mouth, her fingers tangling in his blond-ish platinum hair, pulling him closer until their teeth clashed.
They didn't make it to the back room. The other artist left early a while ago, leaving the shop entirely empty with the front neon sign buzzing. Riki broke the kiss just long enough to stride to the front door, his heavy boots clicking against the floor. He threw the deadbolt with a heavy thud, flipped the sign to 'Closed,' and turned back to her like a predator cornering its prey.
The tattoo chair was still warm when he ripped her jeans down past her knees. Riki didn't waste time with gentleness. Their entire relationship was a push-and-pull of intense passion and volatile arguments, and this was the culmination of eight months of starved frustration. He grabbed her by the hips, lifting her off the chair and slamming her back down against the sleek, cold stainless-steel counter of his workstation. The contrast of the freezing metal against her bare backside made her gasp, her legs instantly wrapping tightly around his waist, her heels digging into his back.
"Riki-" Kira choked out, but he silenced her with his mouth, his tongue invading hers as his large hands ripped her panties off, discarding them carelessly onto the floor.
He didn't use protection and frankly, he didn't care, and neither did she. He fumbled with his own belt, his jeans dropping slightly as he freed his length, thick, hard and pulsing with a desperate need. Riki guided himself to Kira's entrance, which was already dripping with pre-cum, desperate for him. He paused for one second, staring into her eyes, his chest heaving.
"Tell me to stop..." He growled, a rare flash of vulnerability breaking through his gruff exterior. "...tell me to stop, Kira, or I'm going to ruin you."
"Go ahead. You've done it before, why stop now." She breathed, her hands clutching his broad shoulders.
Riki drove into her with a heavy, single thrust that embedded him deep within her core. Kira's head snapped back, a sharp, ragged scream catching in her throat as her internal muscles clamped around him, fiercely tight.
"Aw, fuck yeah!" Kira moaned. He was too large, stretching her pussy completely, filling the emptiness that plagued her for months. He didn't wait for her to adjust. He began to move, his strokes long, hard, and punishing, slamming his pelvis against hers with a rhythmic, wet heat that echoed through the empty parlor.
The pleasure was blinding, sharp and laced with the stinging ache of her fresh tattoo. Riki's hand reached down, his large palm gripping her hip right next to the raw, blood-stained lily, his fingers digging into her flesh to anchor her as he pounded into her. Every thrust jarred the fresh wound, a beautiful, sadomasochistic blend of pain and ecstasy that had Kira crying out, her tears blurring the sight of his face above her.
"Fuck you feel so good princess!" Riki groaned.
Kira locked her fingers in his hair, her grip tightening until it was an uncompromising command that forced his head back. "Kneel." She rasped, her voice dripping with an authority that shattered his façade again. "Look at what you did, and clean it up. Lick it."
Riki's chest heaved, a dangerous flare in his dark eyes before he pulled out and dropped heavily to his knees between her thighs, completely submitting to the gravity of her touch. He leaned his face into the soft curve of her lower hip, his hot breath ghosting over the fresh, weeping ink of the lily before his tongue flicked out, tracing the raw, slowly stinging line of the stem, lapping up the tiny beads of blood and clear plasma with a reverence that felt religious. The sharp, copper tang on his tongue only fueled his desire, and without a word, he slid his hands under her thighs, parting her further as he buried his face directly into her soaking puh. Riki didn't hold back. His tongue parted her swollen lips with broad and heavy strokes, drinking her in, while his nose pressed deep against her clit, his harsh, rhythmic breaths driving her absolutely wild as he ate her with a fierce, starved desperation that echoed through the quiet shop.
"That's right!~" Kira cried out.
He was tenacious. He changed their position, dragging her down onto the floor, using his discarded jacket as a meager barrier against the hard floor. He pinned her hands above her head, his chest crushing her boobs as he drove back into her from above, his movements frenzied, a chaotic release of all the words he never spoke and lonely nights.
"You're mine." Riki growled against her neck, his teeth biting into the sensitive skin of her shoulder, marking her in a different way. "You think you can just walk in here and get a flower to wash me out? You're fucking insane Kira. You'll always be mine no matter where you go or who you're with. You will fucking remember me in every face you see."
Kira couldn't speak. She could barely breathe. The friction was a wildfire, the heat of their bodies making a desperate, sticky sound with every hard shove. Kira's hips arched up to meet him, begging for the final release, her toes curling as the contractions began to ripple through her lower abdomen.
Sensing her climax, Riki shifted Kira again, dragging her to her feet and walked towards the high wooden reception desk near the front door, bending her over the table. He forced her torso flat against the wood, pulling her hips back until she was perfectly aligned for him. He thrusted into her from behind, deep and hard. To keep her from screaming loud enough to alert the people on the street outside, Riki brought one large calloused hand around, pressing his palm firmly over her mouth.
Kira's eyes widened, looking at their reflection in the dark front window of the shop as Riki took her brutally.
"Oh gosh YES!" Kira screamed.
With his hand muffling her cries, Riki bit down fiercely on her shoulder, his teeth sinking into her flesh to anchor himself as the orgasm finally ripped through the both of them. It was a violent, shattering release that left Kira's entire body trembling, her internal walls pulsing around his dick in tight, frantic waves. Riki let out a low, guttural roar into her hair, his pace accelerating into a blinding blur before he gave one final, deep thrust, burying himself to the hilt as he filled her, his body shuddering violently as he spent himself inside her.
The silence that followed was heavy, punctuated only by their ragged, echoing breaths. They stayed like that for a very long moment, chest to back, the reality of what they just did slowly settling into the room. True to their nature, neither of them said I love you or I'm sorry. The damage was done a long time ago, the fire burned and the ashes were still hot.
Riki slowly pulled out and got dressed thereafter. He walked to the back, his nonchalant, grumpy demeanor locking back into place like iron shutters. When he returned and handed her a cold bottle of water, his eyes averted as he picked up his tattoo machine to clean it.
"Don't go to another artist next time. Come to me." He muttered, his voice rough.
Kira leaned against the desk, her legs shaking, her hair a wild and tangled mess. She let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. "Next time?"
Riki shrugged, his back turned to her, though the tight set of his shoulders betrayed his tension. "Your tattoo needs a touch-up in two weeks. It's a delicate spot. Ink bleeds a lot."
Kira didn't answer him. She gathered her jeans, slipping them on with a wince as the denim rubbed against her raw tattoo. She walked out of the shop into the cool midnight air, the heavy door clicking shut behind her. She got into her car, staring at her reflection in the rearview mirror before shifting her gaze down to her waistband. She pulled it back. The lily was perfect. It was a symbol of rebirth, yes, but it was carved into her skin by the very man who destroyed her, proving that some endings were never truly...an end?
"Kira, what are you doing." She muttered to herself, her senses finally returning.
Her phone buzzed in the cup holder.
1 new message
Fuckass piece of shit
You forgot your panties on my floor :)
Kira did not read the message nor did she reply. She put the car in drive and pulled away into the city, regret slowly sleeping into her bones after realising what she's done.
pairings: boyfriend!ni-ki x fem reader (high school au)
warnings: smut MINORS DNI, explicit content, fingering in semi-public photobooth, risk of getting caught, possessiveness, dirty talk, praise kink, ni-ki acting nonchalant while ruining you, reader trying (and failing) to stay composed for the camera
wc: 1.15k
the photobooth at the back of the arcade was small and cramped, the dirty curtain barely offering any real privacy. a group of friends waited just a few meters away, laughing and checking their phones while the timer counted down for your turn. you and ni-ki squeezed inside together, his tall frame taking up most of the space as he pulled you onto his lap on the tiny stool.
“ready, baby?” he asked softly, lips brushing your temple. his voice was sweet, the lovey-dovey tone he always used when it was just the two of you.
you nodded, smiling as you leaned into his chest. the first flash went off. you both made cute hearts with your hands, cheeks pressed together, grinning like normal high school sweethearts.
the second pose was even softer, ni-ki turned your face gently and kissed your cheek while you giggled. another flash. everything felt warm and perfect.
then the third flash came, and his hand slipped under your pleated skirt.
your breath hitched. “riki—”
“shh,” he whispered calmly, eyes fixed on the camera like nothing was happening. his long fingers traced the inside of your thigh before pushing your panties aside. “just smile for the pictures, yeah?”
you tried.
the fourth flash captured your attempt at a peace sign while two of his fingers slid inside you without warning.
you were already wet, you always got like this when he teased you in risky places. he curled them slowly, perfectly, pressing against that spot that made your thighs tremble.
outside, someone knocked lightly on the booth. “hurry up, lovebirds! we’ve been waiting forever!”
ni-ki smirked at the camera, doing a cool rockstar hand gesture with his free hand while his fingers pumped deeper inside you. “just a few more,” he called out casually, voice completely steady.
you scrunched your face as pleasure shot through you, mouth falling open in a silent gasp right as the next flash went off.
the photo would show you looking wrecked—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, cheeks flushed—while ni-ki looked effortlessly handsome, like always, smirking with that signature little head tilt and peace sign.
“fuck, you’re so tight,” he murmured right against your ear, barely audible. his fingers moved faster, thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles. “look at the camera, baby. be good for me.”
another flash.
you tried to pose, forcing a weak smile, but your body betrayed you. your walls clenched around his fingers as he curled them again, hitting that perfect rhythm.
a tiny whimper escaped your throat. you bit your lip hard to stay quiet.
ni-ki stayed completely nonchalant. he tilted his head for another cute couple pose, one arm around your waist like a loving boyfriend while the other worked you open under your skirt.
his expression in the photos would be perfect. cool, slightly cocky, that little smirk that drove everyone crazy. meanwhile you looked like you were seconds away from moaning his name.
“riki… please,” you breathed, barely a whisper. your hips rocked subtly against his hand, chasing the pleasure even as fear of getting caught made your heart race. the people outside were chatting loudly now, growing impatient.
“one more set,” he said calmly, like he was just suggesting another round of photos. he added a third finger, stretching you fuller.
the wet sounds were faint but obvious to you in the tiny booth. “you’re doing so well, baby. staying quiet for me even though you’re dripping all over my fingers.”
the next flashes came in quick succession.
you scrunched your face again, mouth open in a desperate silent moan as he rubbed your clit faster. tears pricked your eyes from the effort of holding back. ni-ki leaned in for a fake cute kiss on your cheek, really using the moment to whisper filth.
“imagine if they knew my fingers are buried inside you right now. my sweet girlfriend getting fingered in a photobooth while everyone waits outside.” his voice was low, possessive. “you’re mine. only i get to make you look like this.”
you came hard on his fingers during the final set of photos. your whole body tensed, mouth falling open in a broken expression as waves of pleasure crashed through you. the camera caught every second, your wrecked face contrasting sharply with ni-ki’s calm, handsome smirk and rockstar pose.
he kept his fingers inside you through the orgasm, slowly pumping to draw it out while gently kissing your temple like the perfect boyfriend.
when the session finally ended, he pulled his hand out smoothly, licked his fingers clean and fixed your skirt. you were still trembling as he helped you stand.
ni-ki casually wiped his fingers on his sleeve before pulling the curtain open, smiling brightly at the waiting group. “sorry, we took a bit long. all yours.”
you walked out on shaky legs, face burning. he wrapped an arm around your waist, supporting you while looking completely innocent.
once you were a few steps away from the booth, he leaned down and whispered, “check the photos later. i want to see how pretty you looked falling apart for me.”
you buried your face in his chest, equal parts embarrassed and turned on. ni-ki chuckled softly and kissed the top of your head, back to his sweet, lovey self.
“let’s go get strawberry ice cream, baby. then maybe we can do another round somewhere even riskier.”
@sacrificemura please do not copy, steal, repost, translate, or claim my work as your own.
dollhouse - ni-ki will never see you as any more than a doll waiting by his side at his beck and call
ⓘ - toxic!riki, fingering, choking, cursing, referred to as 'riki', short aftercare, ni-kis a player, usage of petnames (baby), overstimulation, fondling
──────────────────────
"still mad at me baby?" riki mumbles near your ear as he speeds his fingers up. you moan in response and throw your head back against his chest.
his cold chrome hearts rings massaging your warm skin. the sensation adding to the stimulation he's already applying.
his left hand travels up to your left boob, fondling it as he pinches your nipple slightly to hear you yelp.
"you close? cmon baby, im not letting you cum until you say you forgive me" he whispers in your ear as his left hand leaves your breast and up to your neck to pull your head to see his eyes.
you think back to why you were mad at him in the first place. seeing that instagram story your best friend sent you. the girl leaning her head on riki, with his hand slung over her waist.
you remember when you confronted him about it. how he yelled at you. the words "its not like we are fucking together anyway". it all hurt, but why? you know he's toxic. you put yourself through it all.
riki was different when he touched you. it seemed like you were together then, but maybe it was all a facade. you look up at his face. the soft eyes he's giving you, the fake sympathy pout on his face, he buries his face in your neck as he leaves kisses. "cmon say it for me baby." riki lets out as he continues kissing your neck.
your moans cut off your thought process as you let out the distasteful words that riki wanted you to say. as you finish, riki kisses your lips.
"i love you so much baby" he mutters.
you mutter "love you too" back.
but you know. you are just one of the many dolls riki says that to.
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content: smau ⟡ tattooartist!riki x reader ⟡ profanity ⟡ suggestive ⟡ dad riki
a/n: in honour of fathers day...heres a little dad riki 🥹 this can be read as a standalone (i think) but i suggest u read the other parts first!!
go follow my insta @ nishimmortal ! i post teasers and polls for future posts on there so check it out :)
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( 𝐽𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑤𝑜𝑛 ) x 8th member smut, fingering, praise, in secret, use of names // MASTERLIST
jungwon drags you back to the waiting room to finger you on the couch while the members are outside.
the leather couch has dipped under your weight. your skirt is flipped upwards. panties on the armrest which were wiggled down with hurried fervor. entirety of your pussy out exposed, gushing over jungwons fingers inside you.
your cheeks and ears are bright red from the embarrassment. one of your arm lingers over jungwons thigh as the other rests on your mouth, failing to cover the noises you squeak out.
ungwon yanked your left leg over his shoulder as you yelped under him. "you're being so loud baby" he whispers as his middle and index finger glide in and out of you. the delicious friction of your gummy walls sulking his fingers in has jungwon groaning silently amidst fingering you. "w-won, ah! mphh—"
your attempts to silence your moans with your clammy palm pressed against your ajar mouth are useless. his long fingers dive in and out of your hole, thumb drawing 8s on your rubbery clit.
you're already seeing stars. the cold waiting room air hits against your sensitive core. the leather material under your ass turns sticky with your liquid. there's singular tears spilling out your tear ducts with your mouth open stupid. "ah fuck, fuck, fuck won, right there ngh—"
"yeah doll? this your spot?" jungwon curves his fingers inside you before dragging them out slowly, and then thrusting them up you. you mewl loudly at the action. "won!— ah!"
jungwon laughs at your state, reaching behind him to grab your panties. "you can't be that loud angel, want everyone to hear you fucking yourself on my fingers hm?"
before you can respond back with a reply you are unable to form, jungwon shoves your balled up panties in your mouth. you bite down on the fabric involuntarily.
"so fucking messy doll, fuck, your pussy is so tight and I've been stretching you out," jungwon's eyebrows draw closer with his lip bitten. his other arm travels to the thigh up his shoulder, squeezing the skin before asserting a tight grip on your leg. he picks up his speed, fucking you on his sole fingers. his thumb flicking your clit every now and then as you shake under his touch.
your moans muffle out against the panties on your mouth as your scrunch your eyes shut. your head lolling against the couch pillow as your brain turns to mush.
the unmistakable noise of the members outside the door coming closer becomes clear to your ears. your hand reaches out to jungwons by reflex.
jungwon, ever so unbothered is lost in making you cum "wanna give em a show baby?"
his fingers move with clear intent. fucking you till your slick drops down his wrist. your back arches, you moan, your hip jumps up and around, sensitive out of your mind. "cum on my fingers."
your thighs shake around his head but jungwon is determined. he holds you still as the band in your stomach snaps. with a muffled cry you cum over jungwons fingers like he asked. your hips falter and shake in pulses as he fucks you through it.
"jungwon, you inside?"
you almost don't catch the question from outside the door, the ringing in your ear making your hearing go hazy.
jungwons fingers are out of you. he leans back against the couch armrest before popping both the fingers in his mouth, tongue swirling in and around the digits while he looks at you straight in the eyes. he glances down towards the mess you made as a small smirk tugs at his mouth. "mhm, be out in two."
