You give Ni-ki a bra strap bracelet or whatever it’s called (it’s like when you remove one of the straps from your bra and hook it on your boyfriends wrist) and he proceeds to get you in a mating press and fuck the shit out of you and during en o clock he was wearing it the whole episode and the fans go crazy online
𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒛𝒚 ,𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒂 𝒓𝒊𝒌𝒊
⤷ “Good. Let them know you’re mine.”
₊ ⊹ Explicit Sexual Content, Rough Sex, Mating Press, Breeding Kink, Dirty Talk, Public Claiming Kink, Possessive Behavior, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Multiple Orgasms, Light Choking, Spanking, Idol x Reader Relationship, Public Dating Reveal, Mild Exhibitionism Through Accessories, Strong Language
You sit on the edge of the dorm couch, legs crossed, watching Ni-ki sprawl out beside you after practice. His hair is still damp from the shower, sticking to his forehead, and he’s wearing that loose black tank that shows off the sharp lines of his collarbones and the lean muscle of his arms. You can smell the faint trace of his body wash mixed with sweat, and it makes heat pool low in your stomach.
You reach behind your back casually, fingers finding the clasp of your bra under your oversized hoodie. With a quiet click you unhook one strap, sliding it down your shoulder and out through the sleeve without him noticing at first. The thin black lace dangles from your fingers as you turn to him, biting your lip to hide the smirk.
“Here,” you say softly, leaning in close enough that your breath brushes his ear. “A little something for you.”
His eyes flick down to the strap in your hand, then back up to your face, confusion turning into slow realization. You loop the delicate lace around his wrist, hooking the tiny metal clasp so it sits snug against his skin like a secret bracelet. It looks obscene there, feminine and soft against the hard lines of his veins and the faint red marks from hours of dancing.
Ni-ki stares at it for a second, thumb brushing over the lace. Then his gaze darkens, jaw tightening as he grabs your waist and yanks you into his lap without warning. You straddle him, hoodie riding up, and you feel how hard he already is through his sweatpants.
“You’re fucking filthy,” he mutters against your neck, teeth scraping your skin as his hands shove under your hoodie to palm your bare breast where the missing strap used to be. “Giving me your bra strap like some needy little slut who wants everyone to know who she belongs to.”
You moan when he pinches your nipple hard, rolling it between his fingers. “I just thought it’d look cute on you.”
“Cute?” He laughs low and rough, flipping you onto your back on the couch so fast the air leaves your lungs. He’s between your thighs in seconds, shoving your legs up and folding you in half until your knees are pressed to your chest. The mating press. He loves putting you in it because you can’t move, can’t do anything but take whatever he gives you.
He drags your shorts and panties down in one rough pull, tossing them aside, and you feel the cool air hit your soaked pussy. He doesn’t bother undressing fully, just shoves his sweatpants down enough to free his cock. It’s thick and flushed dark, already leaking at the tip as he rubs it through your folds, coating himself in your wetness.
“Look at you,” he groans, pushing your legs wider, deeper, until you’re completely open and pinned beneath him. “Dripping all over my cock just from giving me your fucking bra strap. You want me to ruin this pussy, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you whimper, trying to rock your hips up, but he holds you down easily. “Please, Ni-ki, fuck me.”
He slams into you in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The stretch burns so good you cry out, nails digging into his shoulders as he starts pounding into you without mercy. Every thrust drives him deeper, the angle forcing him to hit that spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyes. The couch creaks under the force of it, your body jolting with every snap of his hips.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he growls, sweat dripping from his hair onto your chest. His wrist with the lace strap brushes your cheek every time he leans down to bite your neck, the soft material a constant reminder of how dirty this is. “This pussy was made for me. Gonna breed you so deep you feel me for days.”
You sob out his name, clenching around him as he fucks you harder, faster, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. Your thighs tremble from being folded so tightly, but you love it, love how he uses you, how he owns every inch of you in this position.
He reaches down to rub harsh circles on your clit, and you shatter almost instantly, coming with a broken scream as your pussy spasms around his cock. He doesn’t stop, just fucks you through it, dragging out your orgasm until you’re shaking and begging.
“That’s it,” he pants, voice wrecked. “Milk my cock like the greedy little whore you are. Gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna pump you so full of my cum it leaks out for hours.”
He buries himself deep and comes with a guttural groan, hips stuttering as he floods you. You feel every pulse, every hot spurt deep inside, and it makes you clench weakly around him again.
Later that night, during EN-O’CLOCK filming, he never takes the strap off. It’s subtle, black lace blending into his dark outfit, but the cameras catch it every time he moves his hands. When he lifts his water bottle, when he gestures during a game, when he laughs and covers his mouth. The strap is there, delicate and unmistakable.
By morning, the internet explodes.
Clips circulate everywhere. Fans zoom in, screenshot, scream in all caps on Twitter and TikTok.
“IS THAT A BRA STRAP ON NI-KI’S WRIST???”
“he’s wearing it so casually i’m going to combust”
“someone’s girlfriend is out there living the dream”
“the way he keeps touching it like he’s thinking about her… i’m unwell”
“ni-ki please that’s a whole ass bra strap you’re not slick”
You watch the chaos unfold from your phone, thighs still sore, his cum still sticky between your legs from earlier. You text him a screenshot of the top trending hashtag.
“You’re never living this down.”
His reply comes almost instantly.
“Good. Let them know you’re mine.”
You wake up the next morning still sore between your thighs, Ni-ki’s side of the bed cold because he had to leave for schedule at dawn. Your phone is blowing up with notifications, screenshots of last night’s EN-O’CLOCK episode flooding every group chat and timeline. The bra strap is trending worldwide, fan accounts have already made slow-motion edits of every time his wrist moved, and the comments are pure chaos.
You’re curled up under the blanket scrolling through it all, giggling at the absolute meltdown, when your phone buzzes with a video call from the group chat the members made for emergencies and dumb shit. You answer immediately, hair a mess, hoodie half falling off your shoulder.
The screen splits into seven familiar faces crammed into what looks like the practice room mirror. They’re all sweaty from morning rehearsal, towels around their necks, and the second they see you they lose it.
Jungwon starts first, eyes wide and teasing. “Noona, did you really break our maknae? He’s been weirdly smiley all morning and keeps touching his wrist like it’s made of gold.”
Heeseung leans in, pretending to be serious. “We thought he got a new tattoo or something cool, but no, it’s lingerie. Actual lingerie. On his arm. In 4K.”
Sunghoon zooms the camera right on Ni-ki’s wrist, the black lace still perfectly clasped there, a little stretched from how much he’s been fiddling with it. “Look at this. He refused to take it off even for dance practice. The stylists almost had a heart attack.”
Jake is cackling in the background, barely able to speak. “Bro said, and I quote, ‘It’s comfortable.’ Comfortable! It’s a bra strap, not a scrunchie!”
Ni-ki finally shoves his way to the front, cheeks pink but eyes playful as he glares at them. “Shut up, all of you. You’re just jealous no one loves you enough to give you their underwear.”
“That’s not—” Sunoo gasps dramatically, hand over his heart. “That’s not even the point! The point is the entire internet thinks you have a secret girlfriend now and they’re losing their minds trying to figure out who she is.”
Jay grins straight at the camera, looking right at you. “Don’t worry, baby, your secret’s safe with us. We’re professionals. We only told like… three staff members.”
You bury your face in the pillow, laughing so hard your stomach hurts. “You guys are the worst. I’m never showing my face again.”
Ni-ki’s voice softens instantly, the teasing dropping as he pushes the others out of frame so it’s just him. “Ignore them. They’re idiots.” He lifts his wrist to the camera, thumb stroking over the lace again, gentle and possessive. “I like it. A lot. Makes me think about you every time it moves.”
The members immediately start making exaggerated gagging noises behind him.
“Ew, he’s being cute, I’m gonna throw up,” Jake fake retches.
“Someone save me from the flirting,” Sunghoon groans, but he’s smiling.
Jungwon pretends to wipe tears. “Our baby is growing up. Yesterday he was stealing my ramen, today he’s wearing his girlfriend’s bra like a wedding ring.”
Ni-ki flips them off without looking, eyes still on you. “Tell them to fuck off for me.”
You blow him a kiss through the screen. “You heard the man. Fuck off, losers.”
They all cheer and whistle like you just proposed to him.
Heeseung yells over the noise. “We love you too, noona! Thanks for making our maknae bearable today!”
The call ends with everyone shouting over each other, promises to tease him all day, and Ni-ki mouthing “I love you” just before the screen goes black.
You drop your phone and pull the blanket over your head, grinning like an idiot, heart too full.
Later that afternoon, clips of the members joking about it start leaking from behind-the-scenes content. Jake pretending to clasp an imaginary bra strap on his own wrist and fluttering his eyelashes. Sunoo holding up a random black ribbon during a game and asking “Is this yours too?” while Ni-ki tackles him laughing.
The fandom eats it up, of course.
“the members KNOW something and they’re protecting it i’m crying”
“enhypen hyungs bullying ni-ki for having a gf is my new favorite genre”
“he’s so whipped he won’t even take it off for schedules… i need what she has”
You screenshot your favorites and send them to Ni-ki.
He replies with a single voice note, low and rough from practice: “Come to the dorm tonight. I want the other strap too.”
You sneak into the dorm that night after their schedule wraps, heart racing as you slip through the back entrance like you’ve done a hundred times before. The place is quiet, most of the members already passed out or in their rooms, but you know exactly where Ni-ki is waiting.
His door is cracked open, light spilling into the hallway. You push it wider and find him sprawled on his bed in nothing but low-slung gray sweatpants, shirtless, the black lace strap still wrapped around his wrist like he hasn’t taken it off once. His eyes snap to you immediately, dark and hungry, and he crooks a finger.
You barely make it two steps before he’s up, grabbing you by the waist and slamming you against the door to close it. His mouth crashes into yours, rough and desperate, tongue licking into you like he’s been starving for it all day. You taste the faint mint from his gum and the salt of his skin as he presses his whole body against yours, hard cock already grinding against your stomach through the thin fabric.
“Been hard since practice,” he growls against your lips, hands yanking your hoodie over your head. “Every time this fucking strap moved I thought about how wet you got giving it to me. Thought about folding you up again and splitting this pussy open.”
You moan into his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair as he shoves your bra down without bothering to unclasp it, mouth latching onto your nipple and sucking hard enough to make your knees buckle. He bites down just enough to sting, then soothes it with his tongue, switching to the other side while his hand dives straight into your leggings.
“Fuck, you’re soaked already,” he groans when his fingers slide through your folds, no panties because you knew what was coming. He circles your clit roughly, then pushes two fingers inside you without warning, curling them deep. “This cunt’s been dripping for me all day, hasn’t it? Thinking about how the whole world saw my wrist and knew someone was getting fucked stupid by me.”
“Yes,” you gasp, rocking down on his hand as he finger-fucks you against the door, palm grinding against your clit. “Wanted you so bad, Ni-ki, please—”
He pulls his fingers out abruptly and shoves them into your mouth, making you taste yourself while he drags your leggings down your legs. “On the bed. Now. I want that other strap.”
You scramble onto the mattress, heart pounding, and he follows like a predator, flipping you onto your back and spreading your thighs wide. He reaches behind you, unhooking your bra with one hand and sliding the remaining strap free. The lace is warm from your skin as he loops it around his other wrist, clasping it tight so now he’s wearing both, one on each side like matching trophies.
“Look at that,” he murmurs, voice low and filthy as he strokes his cock slowly, eyes raking over you spread out naked for him. “Both your straps on me. Everyone’s gonna wonder why I suddenly have two tomorrow.”
He grabs your ankles and pushes your legs up, folding you in half again, deeper this time because he’s not holding back. Your knees are practically by your ears, pussy completely exposed and glistening, and he groans like it hurts to look at you.
“Such a pretty fucking hole,” he says, slapping his cock against your clit a few times until you’re whimpering. “Gonna wreck it.”
He thrusts in hard, no teasing, bottoming out in one stroke that punches the air from your lungs. You cry out, nails scratching down his back as he starts pounding into you, hips snapping with brutal force. The angle is insane, every thrust slamming into your g-spot, his pelvis grinding against your clit on every push forward.
“Fuck, take it,” he pants, sweat dripping down his chest onto yours. The lace straps brush your skin every time he braces his hands beside your head, soft against the hard muscle of his arms. “This pussy’s choking me, baby. You love being my little cockslut, don’t you? Love knowing I’m wearing your dirty secrets while thousands of people watch me.”
You can’t even form words, just broken moans and sobs as he fucks you senseless, the bedframe slamming against the wall loud enough that you’re sure someone’s gonna complain tomorrow. He shifts one hand to your throat, squeezing just enough to make your head spin, and rubs your clit fast and rough with the other.
“Come on my cock,” he demands, voice wrecked. “Show me who this cunt belongs to. Squeeze me like the needy whore you are.”
You shatter instantly, orgasm ripping through you so hard you see white, pussy clenching rhythmically around him as you scream his name. He doesn’t let up, fucking you through it until you’re shaking and oversensitive, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes.
“Good girl,” he praises darkly, pulling out just long enough to flip you onto your stomach. He yanks your hips up and slams back inside from behind, the new angle making you bury your face in the pillow to muffle your cries. “Gonna fill you up now. Gonna breed this perfect little pussy until you’re leaking me for days.”
He drapes himself over your back, one hand sliding under you to keep rubbing your swollen clit while he pounds into you relentlessly. His other wrist, both straps dangling, brushes your cheek as he turns your head to kiss you messy and deep.
“Come again,” he growls into your mouth. “Milk my fucking cock.”
You do, harder than the first time, whole body convulsing as he groans long and low, hips stuttering as he comes deep inside you. You feel every pulse, every thick spurt coating your walls, and he keeps moving slowly until he’s empty, plugging you full.
He collapses half on top of you, both of you panting, his cock still buried inside as he nuzzles your neck.
“You’re keeping me inside all night,” he murmurs, voice soft now, fingers tracing lazy circles on your hip. “And tomorrow I’m wearing both straps again. Let them all lose their minds.”
You smile into the pillow, spent and aching and so fucking satisfied.
You wake up the next morning tangled in Ni-ki’s sheets, his cum still drying between your thighs from how many times he filled you last night. He’s already up, sitting on the edge of the bed scrolling through his phone, both black lace straps still clasped around his wrists like he never plans to take them off. The morning light hits his bare back, muscles shifting as he turns to look at you, eyes dark with that possessive glint.
“Fuck, you look good like this,” he mutters, crawling back over you and pinning your wrists above your head with one hand. The lace brushes your skin again, soft and teasing. “Marked up, full of me, wearing nothing but my bites.”
You arch up into him, already wet just from his voice. “You’re wearing them again today?”
He smirks, grinding his hard cock against your thigh. “Both of them. For the fan sign. Let them stare.”
He doesn’t waste time. Flips you onto your stomach, yanks your hips up, and slides into you slow and deep, groaning at how easily you take him after last night. You’re still swollen and sensitive, every thrust making you gasp into the pillow as he fucks you lazy and filthy, one hand gripping the headboard, the other rubbing rough circles on your clit.
“Gonna think about this all day,” he pants against your ear, hips snapping harder. “How this greedy pussy sucks me in. Gonna be on stage later with your straps on my wrists and my cum still leaking out of you.”
You come hard around him, muffling your scream in the sheets, and he follows right after, pumping you full again with a low growl. He stays inside you for a minute, kissing down your spine, then pulls out slow, watching his cum drip down your thighs.
“Keep it in,” he says, slapping your ass lightly. “All day.”
The fan sign that afternoon is chaos from the start. Ni-ki shows up in a loose black shirt, sleeves pushed up just enough that both lace straps are visible one on each wrist now, delicate black against his skin. The fans notice immediately. Screams erupt every time he signs something or reaches for a hand, the lace flashing under the lights.
Clips spread like wildfire online within minutes.
“NI-KI HAS TWO BRA STRAPS NOW???”
“he added the second one overnight i’m screaming”
“both wrists… someone is getting RAILED”
“the way he keeps touching them like they’re precious… girlfriend is winning”
“enhypen maknae is NOT beating the whipped allegations”
The members can’t hold it in during the event. Jake leans over during a break, fake whispering loud enough for the mic to catch it. “Yo Ni-ki, you collecting them now? Gotta catch ’em all?”
Sunghoon pretends to adjust an imaginary strap on his own wrist. “Hyung, teach me your ways. I want accessories too.”
Jungwon just laughs, covering his face. “Our baby is in love, leave him alone.”
Ni-ki flips them off with both hands, the straps dangling obviously, and the fans lose their minds even more.
That night, after the schedule ends, he disappears into his room without a word to anyone. You’re at home refreshing Twitter when your phone lights up with a notification from Weverse.
A simple black and white photo: his hand holding yours, fingers intertwined, both lace straps visible on his wrists. No faces, just the unmistakable promise ring you wear that fans have never seen before.
Caption: “She’s mine. Been mine for a long time. Thanks for respecting our privacy until now. I love her.”
The internet explodes in seconds.
Weverse crashes. Twitter trends worldwide within minutes: #NiKiDating #NiKiGirlfriend #ENHYPENDatingConfirmed
Screenshots flood everywhere.
“the bra straps were the hint all along i’m deceased”
“she’s been getting fucked senseless while we were analyzing wrist accessories”
“ni-ki said fuck the rumors i’m claiming her publicly”
“the hand pic… the ring… the straps… i’m not okay”
Pann and TheQoo blow up with threads dissecting every past moment, fans connecting dots from old lives where he smiled too softly at his phone, or dodged dating questions with that smirk.
The members immediately spam the group chat.
Heeseung: “YOU DIDN’T WARN US BRO”
Jake: “welcome to the public relationship club, maknae”
Jay: “proud of you, kid. now prepare for the chaos”
Sunoo: “she better come to the dorm soon i miss her cooking”
Sunghoon: “the straps were genius marketing actually”
Your phone won’t stop buzzing. Old mutual friends texting congratulations, fan accounts you follow privately blowing up your DMs with questions.
Ni-ki calls you an hour later, voice calm but thrilled underneath.
“Yeah,” you breathe, still in shock. “The whole world knows now.”
“Good,” he says, low and rough. “Come over. I want to fuck you while everyone’s talking about how you’re mine.”
You’re at the dorm in record time. He drags you inside, pins you against the wall the second the door closes, mouth hot on your neck.
“Now they all know,” he growls, shoving your skirt up and sinking to his knees. “This pussy belongs to me.”
He eats you out right there in the hallway, rough and desperate, fingers digging into your thighs as you come on his tongue twice before he even stands up. Then he carries you to his room, both straps still on as he folds you into that mating press again, cock slamming deep and relentless.
“Gonna breed you so good tonight,” he pants, sweat dripping, hips bruising yours. “Let them talk. Let them know I’m the one ruining you every night.”
You lose count of how many times he makes you come, how many loads he pumps into you, until you’re boneless and dripping, marked inside and out.
In the morning, the news is everywhere. Official statements from the company confirming the relationship, asking for respect. But the fandom is mostly supportive shocked, but happy for him.
And Ni-ki? He posts one more thing: a blurry mirror selfie of you asleep on his chest, his arm around you, both lace straps visible against the sheets.
The world keeps exploding.
But you’re too busy getting fucked again to care.
