!! synopsis: almost everyone sees you as the innocent campus sweetheart, especially jake, your best friend of three years. he'd never believe you've done anything with anyone. but when your sexual past becomes a topic, jake defends you without hesitation. because you're just an innocent girl right?
!! a/n: this was supposed to be for jungwon oopsiess also first time releasing something in a bit gulp
To Jake, you were the campus sweetheart. The girl who brought homemade cookies, who helped freshmen find their classes. A teachers pet who always had the right answer and a soft smile to go with it.
And you let him believe it.
Because it was easier that way. Because if Jake Sim really saw you he'd either run away or never look at anyone else again.
You weren't sure which option scared you more.
You met in the library every Tuesday afternoon. Same table, same corner, same routine. You were already there when he walked in, and you felt that familiar flutter in your chest.
He dropped his bag on the floor, and you watched him settle into the chair across from you. His hair was messy, like he'd been running his hands through it. He looked tired but happy, that easy smile already on his face.
"Professor let us out early," he said, grinning.
"Lucky you."
"Lucky us." He leaned forward. "Now I get to spend extra time with my favorite person."
You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed. The usual performance.
"Your favorite person? What about Heeseung?"
"Heeseung doesn't bring me cookies."
"You only like me for my baking."
"And your cute personality." He grinned.
You laughed softly, the soft, sweet laugh you'd perfected. It made people think you were shy and made them want to protect you.
Jake fell for it every single time.
"You're studying already?" He peered at your notes. "Midterms aren't for another week."
"I like to be prepared."
"You're going to get a perfect score. You always do."
"It's not about perfect scores." You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "It's about understanding the material."
He chuckled then his eyes lingered on you for a moment too long. "Hey, are you free this weekend? The boys are having a party, nothing crazy. Just people."
You tilted your head. "People?"
"Okay, lots of people. But it's at Jay's place, so it'll be chill. Well, as chill as Jay's place gets."
You considered it. You'd been to a handful of parties with Jake before, and you'd spent the night in the corner, sipping water and smiling politely while his friends tried to talk to you.
"Maybe," you said. "I'll think about it."
"Don't think too hard." He grinned. "You might hurt yourself."
You swatted his arm. He laughed.
And you watched the way his eyes crinkled, the way his whole face lit up and you thought about how easy it would be to tell him the truth.
But you didn't. Because whatever this was, was too much fun.
The party at Jay's house was on a Saturday night.
You wore something soft and innocent. A pale pink loose top that fell off one shoulder, jean skirts that were just tight enough to be cute but not too tight. Your hair was down, and you'd put on just enough makeup to look like you weren't wearing any.
You fitted the image of the innocent sweetheart so perfectly but deep down you were a girl who was anything but innocent.
The house was packed when you arrived. Music vibrated through the walls, and the smell of cheap beer and drunk students filled the place. You pushed through the crowd, smiling politely at people who recognized you, nodding at the ones who called out your name.
Y/N! Hey! You made it!
The sweetheart is here!
Where's your boyfriend?
You laughed at that one. Soft and shy. "Jake's not my boyfriend. We're just friends."
"Sure," the guy said, winking. "Whatever you say pretty."
You found Jake in the kitchen, surrounded by his friends. His head was thrown back laughing at something, his whole body relaxed in a way it never was around you. Around you he was careful and gentle. Like you might break.
It used to make you feel special. Now it just made you want to scream.
"Y/N!" He spotted you and crossed the room in quick strides. "You came."
"Told you I would." You smiled up at him. "You look nice."
He always did but tonight he'd made an effort dark baggy jeans, a fitted white shirt, his hair pushed back from his forehead. He also looked like he'd been drinking.
"You look nice too," he said. "You always look nice. But like. Tonight. You look really-" He stopped himself, clearing his throat. "Do you want a drink?"
"Water's fine."
"Of course it is." He grinned, reaching into the fridge. "Water for the sweetheart."
You watched him, your expression soft and eyes wide. The perfect picture of innocence. Jake's hand found the small of your back, a warm, possessive weight as he introduced you to yet another friend whose name you'd forget in seconds. You smiled, demure, your fingers curled around a glass of water that had long gone warm. You were the perfect picture of sweetness, his sweetheart, the girl who sipped water at a party full of cheap beer and bad decisions.
"I'm gonna grab another round with the guys," Jake leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "You okay here?"
You nodded, your lashes fluttering. "I'm fine. I think I'm going to find the bathroom."
He kissed your temple, a soft gesture that made something in your chest tighten, though you weren't sure if it was guilt or amusement. "Don't wander off too far."
You gave him a delicate smile, the kind that made him melt and slipped through the crowd. The hallway to the bathroom was darker, the music muffled by the walls. You pushed the door open, but before you could step inside, a hand shot out, caging you against the wall.
"Fancy seeing you here, sweetheart."
Your heart didn't jump. You knew that voice, the voice that had haunted a handful of late nights a couple weeks ago.
Jeno. A knowing smirk curling his lips as he looked down at you. He was taller than you remembered, or maybe you just forgot how he towered.
"Jeno." You let his name roll off your tongue. "What are you doing here?"
"Same as you, probably." His eyes dipped down, tracing the short of your skirt and the way your chest rose and fell. "Looking for trouble."
You laughed, a soft breathy sound that wasn't quite innocent. "I'm not looking for anything."
"No?" He stepped closer, his chest nearly brushing yours. He tilted his head, his gaze sharp. "Does he know what you look like when you're not playing the part?"
A shiver ran down your spine and he saw it. The way your breath hitched and he laughed. His hand slid to your waist, fingers digging into the soft curve of your hip.
"Been thinkin about you," he murmured, his mouth trailing down the column of your neck. "Thinking about that night. You remember?"
"Which one?" you whispered, your voice dipping into something husky, something that wasn't the sweet, water drinking girl Jake thought he knew. "You'll have to be more specific."
"Fucking brat." He nipped at your collarbone and you arched into him, a soft, approving hum escaping your lips.
You let him push you a little farther into the shadows, let his hands wander, let his mouth find yours. It was all heat and teeth and a quiet desperation. His tongue swept against your lower lip, and you bit down, just hard enough to make him groan.
"Still a menace," he breathed, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide.
You licked your lips, tasting him, tasting the lie you were about to tell. "Maybe," you said, tilting your head, all innocence and invitation. "Catch me later."
He grinned, a flash of white in the dim light. "Count on it."
And then he was gone back into the party, leaving you pressed against the wall, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. You took a moment to compose yourself. You smoothed your skirt, ran your fingers through your hair, and checked your reflection in the tiny, cracked mirror by the bathroom door. Your eyes were bright, your lips a little swollen, your cheeks flushed.
You walked back to the living room, weaving through the crowd until you found Jake. When he saw you, his whole face softened.
"Hey, you okay?" He asked, stepping closer, his hand reaching for yours.
You leaned into him, letting your body sag against his like you were exhausted and overwhelmed. You pressed your face into his shoulder, and you could feel the steady thud of his heartbeat, so steady so trusting.
"Just a lot," you murmured, your voice muffled. "Can we go? I think I need some air this party is a lot for me."
His hand came up to stroke your hair, gentle, so fucking gentle. "Of course. Let's get you out of here."
He said his goodbyes, slapping backs and shaking hands, his arm never leaving your waist. You walked out into the cool night air, and he opened the car door for you, his eyes soft with concern.
"You sure you're okay?" he asked, buckling his seatbelt.
You looked at him, the streetlights casting shadows across his earnest face. You smiled, slow and sweet, and reached across to squeeze his hand.
"I am now," you said. "Let's go."
And as he pulled away from the curb, you let your head fall back against the headrest, your lips curling into a secret, satisfied smile.
The warm morning air hit you as you walked across campus, your bag slung over one shoulder, hair pulled back in a loose ponytail. Jake walked beside you, his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, rambling about something his professor said that made no sense. You nodded along, making the right sounds of interest, your mind still half asleep.
Then you saw him.
Jeno was leaning against the brick wall near the exit, his arms crossed, that lazy smirk already in place. His eyes found you instantly, dark and knowing, and your step faltered for just a fraction of a second.
"Hey, sweetheart," he called out, pushing off the wall and walking toward you. "Been looking for you, as always."
Jake's brow furrowed. He glanced between you and Jeno, his posture straightening. "You know him?"
Before you could answer, Jeno was there, too close, his voice dropping low. "Where were you last night? I waited."
You felt your stomach flip. "I left early," you said, keeping your voice even and your eyes innocent. "I wasn't feeling well."
"Bullshit." Jeno laughed. "You weren't feeling well, or you were feeling too good? Because I remember you feeling pretty damn good when we were-"
"Back up," Jake cut in, stepping between you and Jeno. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, almost like a warning. "She said she wasn't feeling well. Take the hint."
Jeno's eyes flicked to Jake, assessing him. A slow grin spread across his face. "Oh, this is him? The best friend?" He looked past Jake, straight at you. "You didn't tell him, did you? About us?"
Your heart hammered, but you kept your face soft, confused. "There's nothing to tell. We talked a few times. That's all."
"Talked?" Jeno's laugh was louder this time. "Is that what we call it now? Because I remember your mouth being pretty busy for just talking."
Jake tensed, his jaw clenching. "What are you talking about?"
"Jake, ignore him," you said quickly, reaching for his arm. "He's just trying to cause trouble. He's always been like this."
Jeno's eyes narrowed. "Always been like this? Baby, you used to love the way I am." He stepped closer, ignoring Jake entirely. "You gonna pretend last night didn't happen too? Or the other nights when-"
"I don't know what you're talking about," you said, your voice trembling just enough. You pressed closer to Jake, letting your fingers curl into his sleeve. "You're scaring me."
Jeno's smirk faltered. For a split second, something flickered in his eyes confusion, maybe even hurt. But then it was gone, replaced by cold amusement. "Right. Of course. You're so good at that, aren't you? Playing the victim."
"Get lost," Jake said, his voice hard. He stepped forward, putting himself fully between you and Jeno. "She said she doesn't know you. That's enough."
Jeno held up his hands, backing away slowly. His eyes never left yours. "Fine. But you can't run forever, sweetheart." He winked, a cruel, knowing gesture. "We both know you'll come back eventually."
He turned and walked away, hands in his pockets, whistling some tune.
Jake stood there for a moment, breathing hard. Then he turned to you, his expression softening, concern replacing the anger. "You okay? Did he hurt you?"
You shook your head, letting your eyes well up just a little. "I don't know why he's like that. We barely even talked. He just... he won't leave me alone."
"Hey, hey." Jake pulled you into a hug, his arms warm and solid around you. "It's okay. He's gone. I'm not gonna let him bother you."
You buried your face in his chest, letting out a shaky breath. "Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Always," he murmured into your hair. "Come on, let's get you to class."
You walked together, your hand in his, your steps slow and careful. Jake kept glancing at you, checking, making sure you were okay.
"Oh, by the way," he said, breaking the silence. "I'm going out with the boys for dinner tonight. But I was thinking after, I could come over? Watch the new Toy Story with you?"
You looked up at him, your smile soft and grateful. "I'd like that."
"Cool." He grinned, squeezing your hand. "I'll bring snacks. The good popcorn."
"My favorite," you said, your voice sweet as honey.
You walked into the building together, and Jake held the door for you, his gaze warm and trusting. You stepped past him, and for just a second, over your shoulder, you caught a glimpse of Jeno across the quad. He was watching you still, arms crossed, that smirk firmly back in place.
You turned away, your smile never wavering. You let him watch. You knew exactly what you were doing.
The restaurant was buzzing, warm light spilling over the table where Jake sat with his friends. The whole crew, all of them crammed into a corner booth, drinks half empty.
Ni-ki was scrolling through his phone, barely paying attention to the conversation, when he suddenly burst out laughing. Like, full on wheezing, slapping the table, tears forming in his eyes kind of laughing.
"Bro, what the hell?" Jay asked, reaching over to smack his arm. "You good?"
Ni-ki couldn't even speak. He just shoved his phone across the table, pointing at the screen. "Look. Look at this idiot."
Sunghoon grabbed it first, his eyebrows shooting up. Then he started laughing too, shaking his head. "Oh my god. Oh my GOD."
"What? What is it?" Sunoo leaned over, and within seconds, he was cackling, covering his mouth.
Heeseung took the phone, read whatever was on it, and let out a low whistle. "Damn. Jeno's down bad."
Jake frowned, setting down his beer. "What about Jeno?"
"Your girl's got that man whipped," Ni-ki said, still giggling. "Look."
He passed the phone to Jake. It was Jeno's Instagram story a photo of him looking all love sick, texting someone, with the caption: "She left me on read again. Should I double text? Asking for a friend (it's me, I'm the friend)."
Jake stared at it for a second, then let out a weird laugh. "Wait, you think he's talking about-"
"Bro, who else would it be?" Jay laughed, grabbing the phone back. "Your girl's got him wrapped around her finger. It's actually kinda sad. Look at him bro he's a mess."
"Okay, but that's crazy," Sunghoon said, scrolling through more of Jeno's story. "Like, look. He's posting thirst traps now, because she didn't reply."
Ni-ki was wheezing again. "Bro is on his hands and knees for her. Literally posted a black screen with 'come back' in the lyrics of some sad song."
"He's got it baaaad," Sunoo added, wiping his eyes.
Jake was quiet, but he was smiling, a little confused. "I mean... she's sweet, but she's not like... she's not that type of person to entertain him. He's such a fuck boy and well she's innocent, she's never even-"
"Wait, wait, wait." Jay held up a hand, choking on his drink. "Did you just say innocent?"
"Yeah?" Jake blinked. "She's shy. She's not into all that stuff. She told me-"
"Bro." Heeseung leaned forward, a grin spreading across his face. "Are you serious right now?"
"What do you mean?"
Ni-ki was still scrolling on his phone while laughing. "Okay, okay. Let me tell you something. Do you know Yeonjun? Basketball guy?"
"The star player? Yeah, I know him. What about him?"
"You know the championship game last semester? The one where he went crazy and dropped like 40 points?"
Jake nodded slowly.
Ni-ki was barely containing himself. "Apparently, your sweet, innocent girl gave him a little pre game 'motivation' in the locker room. If you know what I mean."
Jake stared at him. "What?"
"Like," Sunghoon made a gesture with his hand near his mouth, "you know. The good luck kind."
"Bullshit," Jake said immediately. "She would never."
"Oh, she would." Heeseung was laughing now too. "And she did. The whole team was talking about it. Walked out with her lipgloss smeared and everything. He played like a god that night."
"There's no way-" Jake started, but Jungwon cut him off.
"Okay, okay, but that's just the start. You guys heard about the threesome rumor, right?"
"The WHAT?" Jake's voice cracked.
Sunghoon was wheezing now. "Oh my god, yes I have. Bro, there was a rumor going around last year that she-"
"Okay, I don't think it was confirmed," Jay interrupted, still grinning. "But people were saying she had a thing with two guys from the soccer team. At the same time. In the equipment room."
"THAT'S NOT REAL." Jake's face was red now, his eyes wide. "That's literally not real. She wouldn't- she's not like that."
"She literally gave good luck head to a basketball player," Ni-ki said flatly. "In a locker room. Before a game. With other guys in there."
"I could've sworn she told me she was studying that night!" Jake yelled, throwing his hands up.
His friends all looked at each other for a second. Then they burst out laughing again.
"Bro..." Sunghoon shook his head, wiping tears from his eyes. "I hate to break it to you, but your girl is far from innocent."
"She's literally got Jeno begging and Jeno never begs," Heeseung added. "And you're over here thinking she's never been touched? She's been touched, man. By a lot of people probably."
"And you think she's shy," Sunghoon added, snickering. "She's got three different guys on the line and you think she's shy."
"That is crazy," Ni-ki laughed even more seeing Jeno post a picture of you and him cuddled up with a corny caption in attempts to get you back. "Bro is literally the backup option and he doesn't even know."
"I am not the backup option," Jake snapped. But even as he said it, his voice wavered.
They all stared at him for a second.
Then Heeseung lost it. "Oh my god. You are the backup option!"
"NAH, HE'S THE SAFETY NET," Jay shouted, cackling.
"The nice guy," Jungwon added. "The one who takes her to dinner and walks her to class while Jeno gets the late night texts."
"This is the funniest thing I've ever heard," Ni-ki wheezed, slamming his hand on the table. "Bro thought she was saving herself for him!"
"Guys, she literally has Jeno posting love songs for her at 1 AM," Sunghoon snorted. "And she's probably still responding to him. While you're over here playing Toy Story with her."
Jake's face was burning. His jaw was tight, his hands clenched under the table. "Okay. That's enough."
But they couldn't stop laughing.
"This is insane," Heeseung said, shaking his head. "You were out here thinking she's this innocent little angel while she's got damn near the whole campus on speed dial."
"I'm leaving," Jake muttered, pushing back from the table.
"Wait, wait, wait!" Ni-ki called after him. "Bro, don't be mad. It's just funny! She's got you both wrapped around her finger and you don't even know."
Jake grabbed his jacket, his face of embarrassment. "I'm not wrapped around anyone's finger."
"Sure you're not," Jay called after him, still laughing. "That's why you lend her your sweaters and she wears them while making out with Jeno!"
"SHUT UP!" Jake yelled back, but his friends just howled with laughter as he stormed out of the restaurant.
The cool night air hit his face. He stood there on the sidewalk, breathing hard, his phone feeling heavy in his pocket.
He pulled it out. Your message was still there, sitting pretty: "Can't wait to watch Toy Story with you tonight. You're the best <3"
He stared at it for a long moment.
And then, despite everything, despite all of it, he laughed. A dry, humorless, disbelieving laugh.
He was literally the backup option. The nice guy. The one you watched Disney movies with while you're out there doing all that.
He shoved his phone and started walking to your place despite his head and heart racing.
The door clicked shut behind Jake, and you were already there, all soft smiles and warm eyes, your hair falling in gentle waves around your shoulders. You were wearing one of his hoodies and you looked so sweet, so perfectly innocent, that something twisted painfully in his chest.
"Hey, you're early!" you said, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. "I was just getting the popcorn ready. Toy Story's all queued up."
He didn't hug you back. His hands stayed at his sides, stiff and unmoving.
You pulled back, your brow furrowing. "Jake? What's wrong? You seem off."
He walked past you into the living room, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He stood there for a moment, staring at nothing.
"Jake, you're scaring me," you said softly, coming up behind him. "Talk to me."
He turned around slowly, his eyes searching your face. "My friends told me some things tonight."
"Okay?" You tilted your head, that perfect confused expression on your face. "What kind of things?"
"About you." His voice was tight. "About Jeno. About... a lot of stuff."
Your face didn't change. Not even a flicker. "Jake, I already told you. Jeno's obsessed with me. He's been spreading lies-"
"They weren't lies." His voice cracked. "They showed me his story. The picture of you. On top of him. Wearing my hoodie."
You went very still.
"They told me about Yeonjun too," he continued, his voice getting stronger, harder. "The basketball player. The locker room. Before the championship game." He laughed bitterly. "And I was sitting there telling them you were innocent. That you'd never been with anyone. That you were shy and sweet and-"
"Jake-"
"And then Sunghoon mentioned the soccer players," he cut in, his eyes burning. "The threesome rumor. And I didn't want to believe it. I thought they were messing with me.
You opened your mouth, but he kept going.
"They were laughing at me, you know. All of them. Because I was sitting there defending you like an idiot. Ni-ki was literally crying he was laughing so hard. Saying I was the backup option. The safety net. A nice guy who takes you to dinner and watches Disney movies while everyone else gets-" He stopped, his voice breaking.
Your face had gone pale, but you recovered quickly. You stepped closer, reaching for him.
"Jake, listen to me-"
"Why did you lie to me?" His voice was quiet now, raw. "Why did you make me believe you were someone you're not?"
"Because I was scared." you said, your voice trembling. "Jake, I was so scared. I knew what you thought of me. You looked at me like I was this... this pure, good person. And I wanted to be that for you. I wanted to be the girl you thought I was."
"But you weren't."
"I know, and I hated myself for it. Every time you looked at me with those eyes, like I was something special, I felt so guilty. Because I knew I didn't deserve it.
He stared at you, his expression unreadable.
"But I wasn't pretending about you," you continued, your voice breaking. "I wasn't pretending about how I feel. You're the only one who's ever made me feel like I mattered. Like I was worth something. All those other guys? They were nothing. They were distractions. But you-" You reached up and cupped his face. "You're everything, Jake. You're the only thing that's ever felt real."
He didn't pull away. He stood there, frozen, his heart warring with his head.
"I don't care about Jeno," you whispered, your thumb stroking his cheek. "I never cared about him. He was just someone to pass the time. But you? You're the one I think about when I can't sleep, the one I want to come home to. You're the one who actually sees me."
"I don't even know who you are anymore," he said, but his voice was weaker now.
"Yes, you do." You pressed closer, your bodies almost touching. "You know me better than anyone. You know I make bad choices because I don't think I deserve good things. But when I'm with you, I feel like maybe I could deserve them. Like maybe I could be better."
His hands came up, hesitantly, to rest on your waist.
"I was so scared you'd leave if you found out," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. "And I couldn't handle that. I can't lose you, Jake. You're all I have."
He swallowed hard. "I don't know if I can trust you."
"Then let me prove it." You rose on your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his.
He didn't respond at first. He just stood there, stiff and uncertain. But you didn't give up. You kissed him softly, gently, your fingers threading into his hair, your body pressing against his.
"Please," you murmured against his lips. "Please don't leave me. I can't- I can't do this without you."
"Baby..." His voice cracked.
"Let me make it better," you whispered, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. "Let me make you forget all of it. Everything they told you. Everything you saw. Just let me show you how much you mean to me."
"I don't know-"
"Shh." You pressed a finger to his lips. "Don't think just feel."
You kissed him again, deeper this time, your tongue tracing his lower lip. His hands tightened on your waist, and you felt the tension in his body start to ease.
"Jake," you breathed against his mouth. "I only want you. I've always only wanted you."
He let out a shaky breath. "You mean that?"
"I mean it with my whole heart." You pulled back, looking up at him with those big, wide eyes. "I know I messed up. I know I lied. But I'll spend as long as it takes making it up to you. Just please don't leave."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then slowly, his hands slid up your back pulling you closer.
"I'm so stupid," he muttered.
"No." You shook your head, pressing another kiss to his jaw. "You're not stupid. You're kind, and sweet. You're everything I don't deserve."
"Stop saying that."
"It's true." You kissed the corner of his mouth. "But I want to try. I want to be the girl you think I am."
He cupped your face in his hands, tilting your head up. His eyes searched yours, looking for something. Whatever he found, it must have been enough, because he let out a long shaky breath.
"God, I'm so whipped," he muttered.
You let out a soft laugh, pressing your forehead to his. "Good. Because I'm whipped for you too."
And then his mouth was on yours, hungry and desperate, all his doubts and fears melting away. You walked him backward until his knees hit the couch, and he fell back, pulling you down with him.
You straddled his lap, settling comfortably against him, your hands resting on his chest. His hands gripped your thighs, his breathing uneven.
"Let me make you forget," you whispered, leaning down to kiss his neck. "Let me be the only thing you think about."
"You already are," he breathed. "You always have been."
You smiled against his skin, your fingers working at the buttons of his top.
"Good," you murmured. "Then let me show you what you've been missing."
Jake's hands were already pressing into the warm skin of your waist. You could feel him hard beneath you, his breath coming faster as you grind down against him.
"You gonna take care of me?" he asked, voice rough, hands sliding up your back.
"Mmhm," you hummed against his neck, kissing a slow path up to his ear. "But you gotta tell me what you want. I don't know anything, Jake. You gotta show me."
He let out a breathy laugh, his fingers tangling in your hair. "You're so full of shit."
"Am I?" You pulled back, looking at him with those wide, innocent eyes. "I'm just a sweet innocent girl who never did anything with anyone. Remember? Never slept with Jeno, never gave Yeonjun good luck head, and never ever did I have a threesome. You told your friends that. You told everyone that."
His jaw tightened. He flipped you over so fast you gasped, your back hitting the couch, his body caging you in.
"You wanna play that game?" His voice dropped low, dangerous. "Fine. Let's play."
He yanked the hoodie up over your head, tossing it aside. Your chest was bare underneath, and his eyes darkened immediately.
"Look at you," he muttered, his thumb brushing over your nipple. "You been hiding these under my hoodie this whole time?"
You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips. "Jake..."
"Shh." He leaned down, his mouth hovering over your nipple. "I'm showing you, remember? Since you don't know anything."
His tongue circled your nipple slowly, teasingly, before he took it into his mouth and sucked hard. You cried out, your fingers gripping and tugging his hair.
"Fuck," he breathed, pulling back to look at the wet mess he made all over your chest. "So perfect. I've been thinking about these for months. Dreaming about them. And you just let me walk around like an idiot while you were letting everyone else-"
"Jake, please-"
"Please what?" He pinched your other nipple, rolling it between his fingers. "Please stop? Please keep going? Use your words, baby. Since you're so innocent."
"That's more like it." He lowered his head again, switching sides, his mouth hot. His hand traveled down your stomach, slipping past the waistband of your shorts.
"So wet," he murmured against your skin. "For someone who doesn't know anything, you're pretty good at soaking through your panties."
His fingers found your clit, circling slowly, and you bucked against his hand.
"That's it," he coaxed. "Show me what you like."
You rolled your hips, chasing his fingers, your head thrown back. "More, Jake. Please. I need-"
"You need what?"
"You. I need you inside me. Please."
He pulled his hand away, and you whined at the loss. But then he was standing, pulling you up with him, his eyes dark and hungry.
"Bedroom. Now."
You stumbled down the hall, his hand on your ass, pushing you forward. The second you reached the bed, he had you face down on the mattress, your shorts and panties ripped down your legs.
"Look at that," he breathed, his palm smoothing over your ass. "All mine. You know how long I've wanted this? How many nights I've laid awake thinking about bending you over."
He smacked your ass hard, and you cried out, a mix of pain and pleasure jolting through you.
"Count," he commanded.
"One," you gasped.
He spanked you again, the sound echoing in the room.
"Two!"
Another. Harder.
"Three!"
"Good girl." His hand soothed over the reddened skin. "See? You can follow instructions when you want to."
You heard the rustle of his jeans, the sound of his belt unbuckling. Then the mattress dipped, and his body was behind you, his chest pressing against your back.
"You want this?" he asked, his lips at your ear, his cock pressing against your wet folds. "You want me to fuck you?"
"Yes," you breathed. "Please, Jake. I need it."
"Need what? Say it."
"I need your cock. Please. I need you to fill me up."
He pushed inside you in one smooth stroke, and you both moaned. He was thick, stretching you, and you gripped the sheets as he bottomed out.
"Fuck," he groaned, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. "So tight. Fuck, baby. You feel so good."
He pulled out slowly, then slammed back in, and the sound you made was almost inhuman.
"That's it," he grunted, setting a brutal pace. "That's my good girl. Taking it so well."
His hand snaked around your front, finding your clit, circling in time with his thrusts. You were already close, the pressure building.
"Please don't stop," you begged. "Please, I'm gonna-"
"Cum for me," he commanded. "Cum on my cock."
And you did, with a cry of his name, your walls clenching around him. He didn't slow down, fucking you through it, chasing his own release.
"Jake," you whimpered as he kept going, overstimulated but not wanting him to stop. "Jake, it's too much-"
"One more," he moaned. "You can give me one more."
He pulled out suddenly, flipping you onto your back. Before you could protest, his head was between your thighs, his mouth on you.
"ohh-" You jolted, your hands fisting in his hair. "Jake!"
He was relentless, his tongue lapping at your folds, his lips sucking your clit. He groaned against you, the vibration sending sparks through your body.
"Taste so sweet," he murmured. "Could eat you all fucking night."
And he did. He worked you with his mouth until you were an absolute wreck, until your thighs were shaking, until you came again with a broken sob, your hips bucking against his face.
He pulled back, his chin glistening, and kissed his way up your body.
"One more," he said, his voice hoarse. "I need one more, baby. Can you do that for me?"
"I don't- I can't-"
"Yes you can." He kissed you, and you tasted yourself on his lips. "You're gonna take it. All of it."
He reached for his phone on the nightstand, but before he could even unlock it, it started buzzing in his hand. He glanced at the screen, his jaw tightening slightly.
"It's Heeseung," he muttered, looking at you with an unreadable expression. "They're probably checking on me. Making sure I didn't do something stupid."
He answered the call, bringing the phone to his ear, his eyes never leaving yours. "Yeah?"
You could hear the muffled sound of voices on the other end, laughter in the background.
"Bro, you good?" Heeseung's voice crackled through. "You stormed out so fast. We were getting worried."
"I'm fine," Jake said, his voice steady, calm. "I'm at her place."
"Oh shit, really?" Jay said, yelling in the background. "Did you confront her? What happened? Is she crying? Did you-"
You watched him, a slow smile curling on your lips. He was so composed, so in control. It was almost cute.
You shifted on the bed, crawling toward him on your hands and knees. His eyes flickered to you, a warning in them, but you just tilted your head innocently.
"Jake? You still there?" Sunghoon's voice came through.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm here."
You reached out, your fingers trailing up his thigh. His breath hitched almost imperceptibly.
"Okay, well, we just wanted to make sure you were okay," Heeseung said. "You seemed pretty wrecked earlier."
You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. His hand came up, trying to push you away gently, but you just smiled against his skin.
"Bro, you sound weird," Ni-ki's voice chimed in. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, just tired." Jake's voice was strained now, his jaw clenched. "Listen, I gotta go. We'll catch up tomorrow."
"Wait, wait, wait-"
But you were already sliding down his body, your fingers wrapping around his cock. Jake's hand shot out, grabbing your shoulder, trying to push you back.
"Behave," he hissed under his breath, his eyes wide.
You just grinned up at him, all innocence, and lowered your mouth to him.
Jake sucked in a sharp breath, his hand flying to his mouth to muffle the sound.
"Jake? Hello?" Sunoo's voice piped through. "You still there?"
"Y-yeah," he managed, his voice cracking. "I'm here."
You took him deeper, your tongue swirling, and his hips bucked involuntarily. He gripped the sheets, his knuckles white.
"Just... just tired," Jake choked out. "Long night."
You hummed around him, a soft, satisfied sound, and he nearly dropped the phone.
"Okayyyy," Jay said. "Well, we'll let you go. But seriously, if you need to talk about what happened-"
"Don't need to talk," Jake cut in, his voice strained. "I'm good. Everything's good. I'll call you tomorrow."
"Alright, bro. Take care."
"Bye."
He hung up and threw the phone onto the bed, his head falling back as a groan escaped his lips.
"What the fuck," he breathed, his hand coming down to grip your hair. "You're insane you know that?"
You pulled off just long enough to look up at him, your lips swollen, your eyes wide. "I just wanted to help you relax. You seemed so tense."
"Tense," he repeated, a disbelieving laugh escaping him. "You're going to be the death of me."
You smiled and took him back into your mouth, deeper this time, your hand working what your mouth couldn't reach. His hips bucked again, his fingers tightening in your hair.
"That's it," he groaned, his voice dropping lower. "You want everyone to know what a slut you are? Huh? You want them to hear?"
You moaned around him, loud and deliberate, your eyes fluttering closed.
"Fuck," he hissed. "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you? You want them to know. You want everyone to know exactly what you are."
You pulled off again, a string of saliva connecting you to him. "Maybe," you whispered, your voice husky. "Maybe I want them to know who I really belong to."
He grabbed his phone unlocking it, his thumb swiping to the camera. He held it up, angling it so it captured you perfectly on your knees. Flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and your hair tangled in his fist.
"Open your mouth," he commanded.
You obeyed instantly, your tongue darting out.
"Good girl." He smirked, pressing the record button. "Now show me what you do best."
You took him into your mouth, your eyes locked on the camera, a practiced, hungry look on your face. He let out a low groan, his free hand tightening in your hair.
"That's it," he breathed. "Look at you. So desperate for it. So hungry."
You moaned around him, your throat working as you took him deeper.
"Fuck," he gasped, his hips starting to thrust. "You love this, don't you? Love being on your knees for me."
You hummed in agreement, your hands gripping his thighs, pulling him closer.
"God, you're so good at this," he panted, the phone shaking slightly in his hand. "Look at you. Look at how well you take it."
You hollowed your cheeks, sucking hard, and his head fell back with a broken moan.
The room was thick with heat, sounds of your ragged breathing and the slick, wet noises that filled the space between you. Jake had you positioned just how he wanted. On your knees, your lips stretched around him as he fucked your mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice strained. "Eyes on me."
You obeyed, looking up at him through your lashes, tears streaking your cheeks, saliva dripping down your chin. The sight of you like this, all wrecked, desperate, utterly his made his head spin.
"I'm close," he warned, his voice tight. "You want it? Want me to-"
You nodded frantically, your eyes begging, and he let out a strangled cry as he spilled into your mouth. You swallowed everything, your eyes never leaving his, and when you pulled off, you licked your lips clean.
He pulled you up onto the bed, pushing you onto your back. "Open up," he said, and you obeyed immediately, your mouth falling open. He stroked himself a few times, then painted your lips, your cheeks, your chin with thick ropes of white. He moved lower, aiming for your chest, letting it drip down onto your tits, watching it pool in the hollow of your collarbone.
"Fuck," he breathed, his chest heaving. "Look at you. Look at what you let me do to you."
You were a mess with his cum splattered across you, dripping down your neck, pooling on your skin. And you loved every second of it.
He reached for his phone. "Don't move," he said. "I need to remember this."
He snapped a few photos of your ruined face, messy chest, the way you looked up at him like he was the only person in the world. His thumb swiped through the gallery, admiring his work.
You watched him, your heart racing. "Who are you gonna send those to?"
Jake glanced at you, his brow furrowing. "Huh? No one. They're for me. I was just gonna keep them."
You sat up slowly, letting the sheets fall away from your body. You reached out, trailing a finger down his chest. "Really? Just for you?"
"Yeah." He shrugged, setting the phone down. "Why? You want me to-"
"Maybe." You bit your lip, looking up at him through those innocent eyes that he knew by now were anything but innocent. "I want everyone to know who I belong to. Wouldn't want them to think I still belong to Jeno."
Something dark flickered in Jake's eyes. "Such a whore. You want everyone to see you like this? Want the attention?"
"Maybe," you repeated, your voice dropping to something low and sultry. "I want everyone to know I'm yours. Not his. Not anyone else's."
He swallowed hard, his cock twitching at your words.
"You want me to send it to the group chat?" he asked, his voice rough. "The boys? Want them all to see what you look like when you're being Jake's good girl?"
You leaned closer, your lips brushing against his ear. "Send it," you whispered. "Show them. I don't care. I just want them to know. I want everyone to know that I'm yours and only yours."
He pulled back, searching your face. "You're serious?"
"I've never been more serious about anything." You reached for his phone, pressing it into his hand.
He opened the group chat, the one with his six friends from the dinner. His thumb hovered over the screen.
"This is crazy," he muttered. "They are hornballs they're probably gonna-"
"Send it," you urged, your voice a low purr. "Don't you want them to see what you do to me? Don't you want them to know I'm yours?"
He selected the photos, your ruined face, messy chest, and desperate eyes. His thumb hit send.
"There," he said, tossing the phone aside. "Now they know exactly who you belong to."
You pulled him down into another kiss, your arms wrapping around him. "Good," you whispered against his lips. "Because I was always yours."
His phone started blowing up on the nightstand notifications piling up one after another. Jake reached for it, but you grabbed his hand, threading your fingers through his.
"Leave it," you murmured. "Focus on me."
He looked at you messy, ruined, beautiful and something possessive flared in his chest. He forgot about the phone, forgot about the boys, forgot about everything except the girl in front of him.
"Yeah," he breathed, leaning down to kiss your neck. "Yeah, okay. Just you."
The phone kept buzzing, but neither of you cared.
You positioned yourself on top of him, your hands resting gently on his chest. The weight of you settled against his thighs, and you could feel him beneath you, still hard and ready. But you didn't rush. You took your time, letting the moment stretch, letting him watch you.
"Hey," you whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips. "Look at me."
His eyes found yours, hazy and warm, full of something that made your chest ache. You kissed him again, slow and deep, your tongue sweeping against his in a lazy rhythm.
"I've got you," you murmured against his mouth. "Just relax."
You reached down between your bodies, guiding him to your entrance. The tip pressed against you, and you let out a soft breath, your forehead falling against his.
"Ready?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper.
"Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah, princess. I'm ready."
You sank down onto him, inch by inch. Your mouth fell open, a quiet moan escaping your lips as he filled you. His hands came up to grip your hips, but he didn't push or pull. He just held on, his thumbs stroking gentle circles against your skin.
"Fuck," he breathed, his eyes fluttering shut. "You feel..."
"Good?" you finished, a soft smile playing on your lips.
"Incredible," he corrected.
You stayed still for a moment, letting yourself adjust to the feeling of him inside you. Your hands cupped his face, tilting his head up so you could look into his eyes.
"You're so beautiful," you whispered, and you meant it. In this moment, with his lips parted and his hair sticking to him, he was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen.
He let out a shaky laugh. "You're the one who's beautiful."
You shook your head, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "No, it's you. It's always been you."
And then you started to move.
Slow at first, your hips rolling in a gentle, circular motion. You rose up and sank back down, letting him feel every inch of you. His hands slid to your waist supporting you.
"Jake," you breathed, and his name on your lips made his eyes flutter shut.
"I'm right here," he murmured. "I'm not going anywhere."
You kept your pace slow, unhurried, savoring every moment. Your bodies moved together in a perfect rhythm, like you'd done this a thousand times before.
You leaned down, pressing your lips to his neck, trailing soft kisses along his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. He turned his head, catching your lips in a sweet soft kiss.
"This is..." he started, but he couldn't finish.
"I know," you whispered against his lips. "I know."
You could feel the tension building in his body, the way his breath caught with every movement.
"Don't stop," he breathed. "Please love don't stop."
"I won't," you promised. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
You could feel yourself getting close, the warmth building low in your belly. Your movements became a little more urgent, a little more desperate, but still slow.
"Jake," you gasped. "I'm close."
"Me too," he managed. "Together. I want to feel you cum with me."
You nodded, your forehead pressed to his. "Okay. Together."
And then it hit you, wave after wave of pleasure washing over you. You cried out, his name a broken whisper on your lips. You felt him follow, felt his hips buck up into you as he came, a groan escaping his throat.
You collapsed against him, your bodies tangled together, both of you trembling and breathless. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
"Stay with me," he murmured into your hair. "Just stay here. Please."
You smiled against his chest, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin. "I'm not going anywhere."
He tilted your chin up, catching your lips in a soft, tender kiss. Then another. And another. Each one softer than the last, each one saying everything words couldn't.
Then he laughed, a disbelieving, breathless sound.
"What?" you asked, propping yourself to look at him.
"I was so mad at you," he said, shaking his head. "And then you-" He gestured vaguely. "And now I barely even remember what I was mad about."
You smiled, innocent as ever. "That was the point."
He pulled you down, kissing you softly.
"I love you," he murmured against your lips. "I know I shouldn't. I know you're probably gonna destroy me. But I love you."
You kissed him back, your fingers carding through his hair.
"I love you too," you whispered. "And I'm never going to hurt you, Jake. You're mine. And I take care of what's mine."
Vđ§ i wrote this after seeing this... happy 1800 followers!! ily xx
Your best-friends cock size wasn't something that ever scared you.. why would it?
If anything, it was something you both often joked about, "wonder who else you're gonna scare off with that thing." and the second those words leave your mouth a chain reaction of complaints follow.
"It's not my fault--"
"I warned her."
"You probably couldn't handle it anyway."
Pause. You looked up from your phone, one eyebrow shooting straight up at your best-friend Sunghoon. He sat with that annoying ass smirk like he knew exactly what he was doing, he did.
"Me? you must be joking." you said, less sure with the way his eyes were darkened, running all over your person.
He tilted his head, leaning back in his chair "You think you can?"
And that's how you got here, face smushed into his pillow, forearms pinned down by his large handsâwith little effort, and Sunghoon's flushed cock buried so so deep into your pussy you can barely breathe.
By now your brain is on the verge of turning into mush, back arching against him, tiny incoherent whines ripping from your throat as he stretches you so wide around him.
"You said you can handle it." he says voice low. His grip on your wrists tightens slightly as he maintains that deep pressure. A barely audible grunt escapes him as you pulse around him.
"Mmmph I-I can." you manage, he presses his chest to your back. holding you there as you try inch forward, for just a little freedom from being impaled by your best-friend's cock.
"Ah-ah stay still." he purrs. Sunghoon releases your arms, pulling your hair over your shoulders to your back, for a second you thought he was doing it for your comfort. But his large palms immediately find home on your shouldersâpushing you further down onto him.
Your head tips back with a drawn out whine, "Fuucckkk!!âyou're so-so-so deep nnggh."
"I know I know." his lips brush against your ear as he speaks, breathing slightly heavier than usual.
He still doesn't move, watching down as your hands try finding anything to latch onto as you writhe beneath him. You smack his thigh, his hands on your shoulders, the pillowâanything. Trying to find any kind of friction to sedate the pressure.
He tugs your hair back, "I said stay still." he releases your shoulders, "On your hands."
You breathe in sharply, immediately falling forward onto your hands, "H-hoon," you whimper as he presses down on your lower back arching you even fucking further.
"Shh just feel it, feel how I fill you up." he coaxes as your body convulses against him. His hands trail up from your back to the bottom of the tank top neither of you bothered to take off, rolling it up to stroke those painfully hard nipples down to your stomach.
He keeps going with his hands, just watching as you attempt to fuck yourself on his cock, still whining and sobbing.
"You're fucking dripping down my balls." he smirks, observing the milky slick between you, but you can barely hear him with the way you're shaking and spluttering nonsense.
He even fucking laughs. He laughs watching as you struggle and fall forward onto your elbows.
"Awwe you said you can take it, what's wrong baby?"
But you don't respond. Can't respond because he's followed you down, hovering above you and leaning down driving that curved cock into any space he can. One of your hands flail finding the hand holding him up, gripping it as he keeps going. Even as sweat drops from his forehead to your back, even as he finds himself fighting his own release just to torture your poor cunt.
Your tears stain the pillow and your throat hurts, and for a second you thought he was taking mercy on you. Sunghoon hooks your legs with his own, pushing them in-between his so your legs are straight.
"Oh baby," His arm threads under your neck stroking your hair as he kisses your fucked out lips despite the drool seeping. He's got you completely caged beneath him, and then he feels you relaxing, just a little.
He shifts, balancing himself on one arm, the free one pushing finding your pretty tits, trailing down to your belly. You don't see it but a corner of his lips lift. He presses down, right where his cock is buried inside you, making you feel the bulge.
"You feel that?"
"F-fuuckânghh!" your eyes roll back as you instinctively arch back into him.
"No? you don't?" he taunts against your ear, keeping you down, he presses harder, thrusting just to make you feel it. His hips stutter as you pulse harshly, a sharp breath ripping from his throat.
Your vision blurs, you scream as a coil snaps, white and hot and you collapse as you gush around him, soaking his thighs and cock.
"Good fucking girl." Sunghoon fucks you through it, chasing his own releaseâhis hips jerk as he pants through pumps. He shivers as he releases thick ropes of his cum, still buried.
You're still panting into his arm, your eyes are wet, body still shaking. Sunghoon's also panting, trying his hardest not to wince at the way your pussy is still clenching and pulsing.
i am literally salivsting i wil be the goodesg girl For you hunghoon. everyone say thank you to ME for feeding this idea into veeâs head and vee for writing my Deepest darkest fantasies out i love youâ¤ď¸â¤ď¸â¤ď¸â¤ď¸â¤ď¸â¤ď¸â¤ď¸â¤ď¸â¤ď¸â¤ď¸â¤ď¸
a story based off this one âż Itâs the late 2000s, and your stupid boyfriend has officially messed up one too many times. After dumping him (again), youâre determined not to take him back, unless⌠he begs?
đvaehâs note: I love their dynamic so much omg and mind you Iâm not even into all that begging but this may have awakened something in me
âš
Sunday 5:00 p.m. The worst possible time to be writing an essay worth forty percent of your grade.
Your paper is due tomorrow at exactly 12:00 p.m., and after staring at the same paragraph for twenty minutes, you've managed to write three sentences. One of them isn't even good.
Your desk is covered in loose papers, highlighters a half-finished bag of chips. The late afternoon sun shines through your pink curtains window.
Bzzzt.
Your flip phone vibrates against the wooden desk, again. For the seventh time in one hour. You let out a long sigh, rubbing your forehead before forcing yourself to keep typing.
âÂ
Exactly twenty-six hours and forty minutes ago, you broke up with Riki. And apparently Riki is taking it like the world has ended.
Not that this is anything new.Â
Yesterday had started out perfectly normal. You, Riki and the rest of the friend group had spent the afternoon hanging around downtown like always. Sunghoon brought drinks, Sunoo had a cheap disposable camera, everyone was sharing fries from the same cheap diner.
Riki, however...
He woke up and chose to be the biggest pain in your ass imaginable.
Every five minutes he'd place his foot slightly in front of yours while you were walking, making you stumble off the sidewalk before laughing like it was the funniest thing he'd ever seen.
He stole your lip gloss. He stole your sunglasses. He stole your flip phone and held it above his head because he knew you couldn't reach it, grinning while you jumped and threatened to kick him in the nuts.
He kept making the dumbest jokes known to mankind, laughing so hard at his own jokes that he nearly fell off his skateboard, while the rest of the group just stared at him in silence.
At one point he even yanked your precious Juicy Couture handbag off your shoulder and skated away with it, forcing you to chase him for nearly two blocks.
You had warned him, lots of times.
"Riki, I'm dead serious."
"Okay, okay."
Five minutes later he was flicking the back of your ear.
Eventually you'd had enough. You stopped walking, folded your arms and looked him dead in the face.
"Thatâs it. Weâre done. I'm breaking up with you."
His grin disappeared for maybe... two seconds. Then he laughed. "You say that every month."
"I'm serious this time. Iâm so done with you."
"You don't even mean it."
"I do."
He squints his eyes. "You'll call me tonight."
"I will not."
"You definitely will."
You stared at him for another second before snatching your bag back from his shoulder.
"Watch me." Then you walked away.
Your relationship has always been ridiculous. One week you're inseparable, the next you're "done forever." Then somehow you're holding hands again three days later like nothing happened. And it always happens over the dumbest things imaginable.
âÂ
Twenty-six hours later...
Bzzzt.
"Oh my god, shut up!"
When you hear that stupid custom ringtone you installed for him again, you grab the flip phone off your desk and toss it backwards onto your bed without even looking. Itâs impossible to break anyway. It lands somewhere in the pile of blankets, still buzzing.
You're not answering that.
This is... the fifth time you've broken up? Maybe the sixth? Honestly, you've lost count.
Then finally, your fingers move across the keyboard without stopping. One paragraph turns into two, then somehow you're already halfway through the next one. You don't even realize you've been writing for almost twenty minutes.
Thenâ
Riiing. Riiing.
Not Riki's ringtone, the default one. You stop typing and stare at your screen for another second before sighing. You push your chair back with a groan and walk over to your bed, digging through the blankets until your fingers find your flip phone.
Jake. You frown and flip it open. "...Jake? Hello?"
"Yooo." Jake sounds irritatingly cheerful. "How's the essay going?"
You narrow your eyes immediately. "...Bad."
"Damn. Uh... How's your mom?"
You blink. "She's.. fine?"
"Cool."
"Okay..."
You slowly pull the phone away from your ear to look at it. "...Jake?"
"Yeah?"
"What are you doing?"
"...Nothing."
Then you hear muffled voices. "No, give itâ"
"Dudeâ" A little scuffle and then "...Hello?"
You immediately close your eyes. "Oh my God. Seriously?"
It's Riki. "Hi."
"You are unbelievable. You're calling me from Jake's phone now?"
"My phone isn't working."
"It is working."
"...Yeah."
"So why are you using Jake's?"
"'Cause you won't answer mine."
You let out the biggest sigh imaginable. "You're ridiculous. What do you want?"
"...Did you mean it yesterday?" He asks, you don't answer. "When you said that we're over."
You stare out your bedroom window. "Yup."
He sighs. ââŚCan I come over?"
Your head snaps up. "Don't you dare."
"What if we justâ"
"Riki."
"Five minutes."
"No." Riki sighs. "Three?"
"No."
"I'll stand outside."
"No."
"I won't even come in. I just wanna taâ"
You suddenly start making static noises into the phone. "Krrshhhâ"
"...What?"
"Kghhhâ sorryâ can'tâ hearâ"
"Y/n?"
"Connection'sâ reallyâ baâ"
"Are you kidding mâ"
"KRRSHHHHâ"
"Y/n. Hello? Hello?"
Click. You snap the flip phone shut. "Idiot."
â
Across town, Riki slowly lowers Jake's phone from his ear. "She hung up on me."
Then, with a dramatic groan, he lets himself fall backwards onto Jake's bed and throws and arm over his face. "I'm gonna die."
Jake doesn't even look up from the game controller in his hands.
"Yeah man, I think she's serious this time. You fucked up."
Riki drags both hands down his face. "I can't lose her, Jake."
Jake pauses his game and looks at Riki. "You know what your problem is?" Riki stares at the ceiling. "What."
"You act like she's your best friend when youâre around everyone else."
"What?"
"You never act like she's actually your girlfriend." Riki frowns. "I do."
"No." Jake points at him with the controller. "You annoy her all the time and you never listen to her.â
"I flirt."
"You steal her stuff Riki, thatâs real mature."
"I give it back. I make her laugh."
"You make yourself laugh." Jake sighs. "Dude⌠you gotta stop acting like she's just someone you keep around to mess with."
"She's not." Riki turns his head toward him. "She's what I love most in the world."
Jake nods once. "Then tell her that. And maybe stop acting like a toddler every time she's around." Riki groans into his hands again.
--
Twenty-five minutes later Riki rolls to a stop in front of your house.
The wheels of his skateboard scrape against the pavement before he flicks it up with his foot, catching it without even looking. He leans it against the brick wall beside your front door and exhales.
The small window beside the door reflects his face and he takes a look at himself. His beanie comes off and he runs a hand through his black hair a few times, trying to make it look at least a little less messy before pulling the beanie back on.
Then his eyes drop to his jeans that are hanging halfway down his ass. He grabs the waistband and pulls them up a little.Â
He can practically hear your voice already.
"Riki, pull your damn pants up. Your whole butt is out."
A tiny smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
He straightens his jacket, takes one last breath and presses the doorbell.
...
Nothing. He waits. Still nothing, so he presses it longer.
...
Silence. He presses it one more time.
"Y/n?"
His patience lasts about ten more seconds before he starts knocking.
"Y/n."
Knock. Knock. Knock. "I know you're home."
He bangs his fist on the door now. "Come on."
Still nothing.
"For fuck's sake..." With a sigh, he takes a few steps backwards and looks up toward your bedroom window. Maybe he can see if you're in there. When he steps back, he accidentally bumps shoulders with a woman walking her dog.
"Ohâ sorry."
"It's alright."
She follows his eyes to the upstairs window, then looks back at him with a knowing smile.
"Hm. Maybe try climbing it again."
Riki lets out an awkward laugh. "I guess..."
She continues walking without another word. Riki watches her for a second, completely confused.
Itâs just your neighbour and she definitely saw him sneaking through your bedroom window the last time the two of you "broke up." But Riki doesnât know that.
Meanwhile, you're completely oblivious.
Your essay is finally coming together. Britney Spears is blasting through your iPod earbuds while your foot taps against the floor beneath your desk. You're actually getting somewhere.
Thenâ
Tick.
Something taps against your bedroom window. You pause for a second, taking one earbud out.
"Y/N!"
Your eyebrows knit together. "...No."
"Y/N!"
You slowly close your eyes. "You've got to be kidding me..."
You push your chair back and walk over to the window. The second you slide it open and stick your head outside, there he is standing in your front yard, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket, looking way too pleased with himself.
"Uhh.. what did I say," you yell down at him, "about coming near my house?!"
He cups his hands around his mouth. "Baby, I just wanna talk!"
"We already talked!"
"No we didn't!"
"Yes we did!"
"You broke up with me!"
"Yeah, and?!"
"I didn't get to say anything!"
You throw your hands up. "What is there to say?"
"I'll make it up to you!"
"You say that every time!"
"This time I mean it!"
"You also say that every time!"
He groans loudly enough for the whole street to hear. "Y/n, come on!"
"No!"
"Five minutes!"
"Go away!"
He looks around dramatically before pointing toward the rainpipe running up the side of your house. "...Don't make me climb."
Your eyes immediately widen. "Don't."
"Then let me in."
"No."
He starts walking toward the rainpipe. "Riki."
He keeps walking. "I'm doing it."
"Riki."
"I'm climbing."
"You are not."
He grabs the pipe with both hands. "Watch me."
"Riki!"
One foot comes off the ground, he starts pulling himself up.
"Oh my God..."
"Last chance, y/n!"
"Stop it!"
He climbs another few inches.
"Riki!" You pinch the bridge of your nose. "...Fine!"
He immediately stops climbing. "Really?"
"Yes!"
A huge grin spreads across his face.
"Butâ" You point downstairs. "Front door."
"...Aw."
"Front. Door."
He sighs dramatically. You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts.
Then you slide the window shut, the second it clicks closed, you let your forehead fall against the glass. You groan loud enough for yourself to hear through the window. "Why... why."
Taking one long, reluctant breath, you push yourself away from the window. Then you leave your room to go let your ex-boyfriend into your house.
You swing the front door open and look at him with your Arms crossed and one eyebrow already raised. He stands there with his, beanie pulled low over his forehead, hands shoved awkwardly into the pockets of his hoodie.
The second he sees you, he smiles. You don't.
"What do you want?"
"Hi." He scratches the back of his neck. "...Can I come in?"
You stare at him for another second before stepping aside with a dramatic sigh. You don't answer, you're already halfway to the stairs and he follows after you.
"So... I wanna talk."
"I figured." You reach the top of the stairs. "Then talk."
"I mean... properly."
You push your bedroom door open. "You better be fast." He looks around. "Why?"
"'Cause I'm busy."
"Busy doing what?"
You walk over to your desk. "My essay."
He snorts, like he doesnât believe youâre serious. You slowly turn around completely silent. One eyebrow lifts and you just stare at him.
His smile disappears. "Oh." He straightens up immediately. "...Right."
You nod toward the middle of the room. "So? What did you wanna talk about?"
Riki hesitates for a second before rubbing the back of his neck again.
"...I want you to take me back."
You close your eyes. Then let out the longest sigh he's ever heard.
"If that's all you're here for..." You point toward the hallway. "you can leave."
"No, wait." He takes a step forward. "Please."
You don't look impressed.
"I don't even know why you broke up with me."
That makes you stop. Slowly you turn around and you look at him like he's the dumbest person you've ever met.
"...Seriously?"
He blinks. "...Yeah?"
You let out one short laugh. "You might wanna sit down for this."
You didnât mea it literally. But Riki, somehow convinced he's about to receive the lecture of a lifetime, obediently walks over to your bed and slowly sits down on the edge.
You have to stop yourself from laughing. Instead, you fold your arms.
"Yesterday."
He nods.
"You held my phone above your head. You stole my lip gloss. You took my bag and skated away with it. You tackled me while we were walking, you almost made me eat concrete."
He frowns. "I caught you."
"Barely." You say, and you continue. "You made fun of me."
"I teased you." Riki comments.
"You flicked my ear, it hurt. And every single joke you made yesterday was also painfully unfunny."
"I thought they were funny."
"Just you, yeah."
Then he frowns.
"So..." He gestures vaguely with both hands. "You broke up with me because I was messing around with you for one day?"
You scoff so loudly he almost flinches.
"One day?" You let out a dry laugh. "One day?"
You sigh and continue your list of thins you dislike about him.
"You never listen. I tell you to stop doing something and you keep doing it because you think it's funny. And you don't know what the word 'no' means."
He sighs. "Y/nâ"
"No. You interrupt me constantly."
"..."
"You never take anything seriously. Your pants always hang halfway down your ass."
He instinctively looks down at them. "They're supposed to."
"They're falling off."
He opens his mouth again. You don't even let him start.
"You smoke. Cigarettes, weed. You constantly smell like smoke."
He looks down at his hoodie and sniffs it. "I smell alright."
You raise an eyebrow. "You smell like an ashtray." He quietly stops sniffing himself.
"And you spend more time on that stupid skateboard than you do with me."
"I don'tâ"
"You do."
"I literallyâ"
"You. Do."
Every single time he tries to defend himself, you cut him off before he gets more than two words out.
Normally, by now, he'd have completely checked out. He'd be picking at the ruffles on your pillows, spinning one of the little charms hanging from your lamp, messing with your lip gloss collection. Doing literally anything except listening.Â
But not today, today he just sits there looking at you. Actually letting every word sink in.
Until you finally run out of things to say. Then Riki rubs both hands together.
"Okay." He nods once. "âŚI have complaints too."
You fold your arms. "Oh?" One eyebrow lifts. "Let's hear them."
"Uh..." His confidence immediately disappears. "Well... you..." He scratches his cheek. "You wear... too much perfume."
You frown. "...What?"
He points at you awkwardly. "Your perfume."
"...Yeah?"
"It's..." He shrugs. "Strong."
You stare at him. "So your complaint... is that I smell too good?"
"No. I just meanâ"
"You don't like my perfume?"
"It's just... a lot."
You blink twice, then slowly shake your head. "Whatever." You turn back toward your desk. "I'm not even entertaining that."
You start sorting through the pile of papers scattered beside your keyboard.
"I don't know. I just..." His voice sounds softer. "...I just want you back, Y/n."
Your hands keep moving around your desk. "It's not gonna happen."
"I'll do anything." Riki says. That makes you snort. Without even looking at him, you shake your head.
"Yeah?" You shuffle another stack of papers into place.
"What are you gonna do..." You laugh to yourself. "...get on your knees and beg?"
You turn around, ready to see him still sitting on your bed. Instead⌠he's already lowering himself onto both knees, looking up at you. A laugh escapes before you can stop it, shaking your head as you look down at him.
"You're such a loser."
He doesn't even argue, he just starts begging.
"I'll change y/n."
The smile on your face falters just a little when you realize heâs serious.
"I'll stop acting like a kid. I'll stop smoking if you want me to."
His eyes don't leave yours.
"I know we've had our ups and downs... but I don't want that anymore. I don't wanna break up with you every month."
His voice gets quieter and the room suddenly feels slightly hotter.. "I just... I wanna love you every day, baby. Every time we're not together⌠I might act like I don't care. But I do, I miss you every single time."
His shoulders sink. "And I don't wanna lose you."
You haven't said a single word. You're just looking at him, your face completely blank. Then the tiniest grin starts pulling at the corner of your mouth. You are enjoying this far more than you should.
He notices. "...Don't smile."
"I'm not."
"You are. You think this is funny."
You shrug. He sighs before reaching forward and gently taking both of your hands in his. His thumbs rubs gently over your knuckles.
"Please, baby... I know I act stupid sometimesâ"
"And childish," you interrupt.
He nods immediately. "Yeah."
"And irresponsible. And annoying."
"Yeah," he nods desperately. "Yeah, all of that. But I promise I'll stop, i'll be better."
He squeezes your hands gently.
"I love you more than anything in the world." He looks down for a second, almost embarrassed by what he's about to admit. "I just...I don't really know how to act around you sometimes."
"So I start joking." He continues. "I mess around, I try to make you laugh. And then I get carried away."
His eyes find yours again. "But I can do better. I want to do better, for you."
"So..." His voice softens. "just give me one more chance. Please, Y/n. I'll spend the rest of our relationship proving you right for taking me back."
For a moment neither of you says anything. He stays on his knees. You keep holding both of his hands and look down at him, the corners of your mouth slowly lifting into a smile you try very hard to hide.
His own smile starts creeping back too, hopeful this time. He studies your face for another second before slowly standing up, his hands sliding from yours to your sides as he stands.
The height difference returns instantly, now you're the one looking up at him. You sigh dramatically and roll your eyes.
"Fine, Riki." His eyebrows lift. "I'll give you another chance."
"Butâ" Before you can finish, his arms wrap around your waist and he effortlessly lifts you off the floor. You let out a surprised squeal that turns into laughter.
He grins so hard his cheeks hurt. "I knew it."
He leans in and kisses you, the kind of kiss that makes both of you smile halfway through it. The second your feet touch the ground, though, your expression changes. You poke a finger firmly against the middle of his chest.
"Listen." He nods immediately.
"This is your last chance." You poke his chest again. "You mess this up... we're done."
He nods again.
"Forever. I don't care if you get on your knees, don't care if you cry, don't care how much you beg. I'm not taking you back again."
He doesn't even hesitate. "Okay."
"So don't mess it up."
"I won't."
"You promise?"
"I promise." He smiles softly.
"I won't mess up, baby." Then he leans down and presses a gentle kiss against your forehead. "I swear."
Before you can answerâ
The front door downstairs slams shut. Both of you freeze.
"Y/n, honey?" your mom calls from downstairs. "We're home!"
Your eyes go wide. "Oh shit."
You immediately raise your voice. "Okay, Mom!"
You look at riki. "You have to go."
His smile disappears. "What?"
"You have to leave."
"I literally just got here."
"My parents can't know you're here."
"Why?"
You give him a look. "Because they'll spend the next hour asking me why I took you back."
He looks genuinely offended. "...What's wrong with taking me back?"
You snort. "Nothing. They just think we're exhausting. But I'll talk to them, just... not today."
He sighs. "I finally get my girl back and I'm immediately getting kicked out."
"Go."
Riki lets out the most dramatic sigh you've ever heard and slowly turns toward your bedroom door. "I can't believe this."
He reaches for the doorknob and you stop him immediately. "Riki. Window."
He looks over his shoulder. "My skateboard's at the front door."
"So?"
"My skateboard being there means they probably saw it."
You place both hands against his back and start shoving him toward the window.
"If they see you theyâre gonna ask questions.â You slide the window open with a loud squeak. "So go through the window."
He looks down at the drop but e turns back to you instead of climbing out. Then he grabs your waist and pulls you against him before he kisses you.
His hand settles between your shoulder blades as he keeps pulling you closer until you're practically bending backwards over his arm. A surprised giggle escapes into the kiss. Your hands come up instinctively, cupping both sides of his face as you smile against his lips.
Footsteps creak on the stairs outside. Then your mom's voice echoes through the hallway.
"Y/n? What are you doing up there?"
Your eyes snap open and you pull back immediately.
"Still working on my essay!" you yell.
You shove Riki toward the open window and whisper-yell. "Quick, quick!"
"I'm going!" Still laughing, he awkwardly squeezes himself through the window frame, one leg dangling outside while his hoodie catches on the latch. "Oh, for fuck's sake..."
"Riki!"
"I'm stuck!"
You grab his hoodie and hook it off the latch. "There."
He pulls himself up and steals one last kiss. "See you tomorrow?"
You smile despite yourself. "Yeah, now go."
He drops onto the little ledge beneath your window, then carefully climbs down the drainpipe the rest of the way before jumping the last few feet onto the grass.
You lean on the windowsill, watching him land.
He dusts off his baggy jeans like nothing happened. Then walks over to the front of the house, grabs his skateboard from where he'd leaned it against the wall, and starts walking backwards down the path again instead of turning around. His eyes never leave yours.
Right then, the same woman walks past with her little dog. She slows for a moment, looking from Riki... to you leaning out of your bedroom window.
"Told you."
Riki lets out an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.
The woman looks up at you and you smile brightly. "Hi, Miss!"
She chuckles and continues walking. Riki looks back up at you with a confused frown. You mouth one word. "Neighbor."
His eyes widen. "Oh."
You immediately start shooing him away with little hand motions. "Go!"
He grins, he presses both hands to his lips and blows you the most exaggerated kiss you've ever seen.
"Bye, Riki."
You roll your eyes, and wave until he finally turns around, drops his skateboard onto the pavement with a loud clack, hops on, and disappears down the street.
in which - you drunkenly message your bestfriend asking him to pick you up from the bar only for him to send his friend.
slide count - 24
masterlist // previous , next
contains!! - language, riki and reader say the L word, mentions of drinking, everyone goes to a party, riki and his ex are STILL messaging eachother, lowkey arguing i guess. thats all i hopee.
authors note - omg i was excited to post this but yall the next ones are going to be fucking horrid, but lowk hate riki because of this, jk. we all jumping him after this. anyone peep HOW HE CHANGED HER FUCKING NAMEđ¤Źđ¤Źđ¤Ź
synopsis . Ýâ âš . Ý âĄ Ý . âš â Ý. when you're traveling with your idol boyfriend, things get a little pushy. thankfully, everyone mistakes you for just another staff member.
a/n: just a little idea that i obviously got too carried away with, oops !
the whole idea was already questionable from the start.
".. are you sure?"
the windows in the hybe office building overlooked the city of seoul. there were tall sky scrapers, idol-advertised cafes, and shops below that surrounded the huge company. you sat in one of the meeting rooms, sitting and talking with an enhypen staff member and their manager, yuki.
"isn't that going to be risky?" you questioned for what felt like the fourth time. the backpack sat heavy in your lap. "i can just take a separate car and flight.."
yuki leaned back in the chair, arms folded in a relaxed manner while speaking. "and make us coordinate another vehicle? just come with us."
the staff member nodded in agreement. "it'll be easierâ plus, it's been discussed among us staff already.. you know we don't mind your presence, yn."
you hesitated. "ah.. i don't know."
"besides.." yuki shrugged. "ni-ki's been trying to convince us to let you travel with the group since the festival schedule was confirmed."
your eyes narrowed slightly.
"he did?"
"mhm."
you were silent for a second.
"okay," you let out a nervous breath. "i'll travel with you guys."
after the small discussion in the meeting room, you slipped out and went to sit in the lounge area of the floor where enhypen was having there dance practice. you sat patiently, waiting for ni-ki to come out.
soon enough, the sound of feet shuffling out of a room and towards a hallway was made aloud. some laughs were exchanged, along with nagging and complaints. you turned your head towards the commotion, seeing ni-ki leading the rest of the group. he immediately walked over towards you. the other guys waved and smiled at you as they turned the corner to take the elevator first. "hey, yn!" jungwon blurted out while walking away. ni-ki turned to the boys while he walked backwards towards you, "see you tomorrow morning."
you giggled as he made his way and sat on the couch next to you, instantly wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you in for a hug. "so.. what happened in the meeting?"
you glared at him. "you know what happened. they told me it was your idea."
ni-ki coughed. "oh.. surprise?"
~~~~
it was now the day.. the day you overthought for the past week.
upon arrival, you dressed up in all black (advised by staff) and wore a black mask and beanie that covered most of your face. you sat in the car with the rest of the other staff while ni-ki was in another car with the members and their manager.
on the ride to the airport, you got a text.
ni-ki <3: hello staff, make sure to protect me today. yk airport departures can get hectic.
yn: oh pleaseđ
do i actually look like a staff member
ni-ki <3: u look more stylish with the beanie
yn: ugh
what if i told u i was trying to blend in with the staff
ni-ki <3: are u that scared
yn: i meanâŚ... do u care abt ur career and wanna get caught?
ni-ki <3: u right
ok we just got here
be safe, ok?
watch where ur stepping and follow staff
ill try to talk to u on the plane
i love u
yn: okay i love u too
enhypen's car had arrived before yours, you were now pulling up behind their van in the terminal drop-off area.
hundreds of people stood outside in front of the entranceâ you could even see some others inside already crowding. screams were heard, yelling, cameras clicking, and the bright flashes from the cameras did not help one bit. you took a deep breath before putting on your sunglasses to cover yourself up a bit more.. and also to help with the flashing lights.
as the car door opened, you followed the staff. you acted normal to the best of your ability, trying not to look bothered. your posture stood relaxed and your bag was slung over your shoulder. as you stood outside of the car next to the other staff, you slyly watched enhypen.
"hello! please look over here!" a photographer spoke aloud as the members stood in a line getting their pictures.
then after a minute or two, yuki nodded towards them. the boys started to walk as yuki lead the group. the rest of the staff you were with followed from behind, security also surrounded enhypen.
you couldn't lie, the whole thing was overwhelming from the startâ but now being inside the airportâ things were about to get worse.
"ni-ki!"
"i love you, heeseung!"
"look here!"
âsunoo!â
the crowd surged and phones lifted into the air.
people squeezed past one another trying to get closer.. which caused someone's shoulder to bump into yours, then another right after. and thenâ someone shoved from behind. you stumbled but caught yourself quickly. from the side of you, one stylist muttered.
"hey, be careful."
"i'm okay."
you weren't entirely though, of course. the amount of people and limited space made it very hard to not trip and face plant.
up ahead, ni-ki turned his head to look at you from behind. even behind his mask, you recognized what kind of look he was giving youâ he was checking on you.
you gave him a tiny nod, to which he faced forward again.
you constantly looked at your watch on your wrist because it seemed like 10 minutes of just walking to the gate. throughout the whole time despite the pushes and interviewers constantly talking to the members, ni-ki continued to look back at you often.
finally, the destination to the security check was nearâ but that didn't make things better. the crowd bottlenecked near the entrances, still trying to interact with the group.
everyone then compressed together and a wave of people shoved forward.
a fan on the side of you stepped closer, trying to get a closer look at what you guessed was one of the members, which made you trip over her foot.
for a second, everything felt like it was in slow motion, dramatic enough. your balance started to shift, soon disappearing. your body tilted sidewaysâand for a serious momentâyou genuinely thought you were going to embarrass yourself in front of everyone and eat the airport floor. a few squeals and gasps erupted from the crowd.
before you could fallâ a hand slid across your upper back.
a single arm was now propping your upper body up, hand squeezing your right shoulder. it was firm and steady, somewhat panicked too. your left shoulder pressed into their chest.
and to your surprise, it was ni-ki.
ni-ki, who was near the middle of the members, somehow made his way towards the back to walk in front of you.
he kept you tucked in for barely two seconds without no words, before letting go and returning to walk like how he previously was
you blinked.
one staff member beside you looked over. "are you alright?"
"yeah..!â the nervousness in your voice was noticeable.
~~~~
now boarding the flight, you somewhat felt more relaxed being able to sit down. while the staff put the luggage away in the head-over bins and the passengers become distracted finding their seats, ni-ki casually stops beside your row.
he leans down just enough that only you can hear.
"are u tryna get me exposed?" he raised an eyebrow when he spoke in a cheeky voice.
you blinked. ".. me?"
"you almost fell."
"oh my gâ you know that wasn't my fault."
"i know."
a tiny smile tugs beneath his mask.
".. just don't scare me like that again."
then he pats the top of your seat and keeps walking before anyone can look too hard.
your cheeks flushed under your mask. then, your phone chimed.
ni-ki <3: do i get no thank u? đ˘
yn: thank you kiđŠˇ
~~~~
by the time everyone landed.. twitter had every picture and video you could imagine.
@/ot7engeneluvr: ni-ki helping one of the staff members when she almost fell 𼚠he's seriously such a gentleman [1:video attachment]
@/ddeonu.xo Whoever that staff is i KNOW she was thankful because that crowd looked more insane than normalâŚ. âšď¸ENGENE do better!
@/enhypenarchives: NI-KI immediately noticed she lost her balance and caught her so politely, a MAN đŠ [4:photo attachments]
@/hoonie_.daily:Â people alwaysss say he's quiet but he notices everything
@/carpediem:Â she's SOOOO LUCKY!!!!!!
@/muffinmaster: how do i become her
you scrolled through the posts from your hotel room continuously. you were waiting for ni-ki to come back from rehearsal for the festival.
one clip had over three million views.
you watched yourself wobble and watched ni-ki's hand appear almost instantlyâ then watched him let go just as quickly.
to everyone else, it was like he had simply helped a staff member, but to you, it had been on instinct. it was the kind of instinct that comes from loving someone so much that your body reacts before your mind does.
soon enough, the door to the hotel room opened. ni-ki had his black mask on along with his sunglasses, dragging the bag he brought with him. he groaned as he dropped the bag on the floor near the front. he then started jogging towards the bed you were lying on, jumping on itâ making the whole bed shake. you guarded yourself as he hugged you.
you laughed, pushing him away. "you're all sticky!"
"you like it."
"i do not. go shower."
"yes ma'am."
without no other complaints, he went straight to the bathroom to clean up.
after a bit, he came back with wet hair and a white tank top paired with his grey baggy sweats that hung low on his hips, making the brand name of the boxers that were under peak out.
he plopped right beside you on the bed, instantly pulling up the covers.
you smiled, then nudged him a bit. "did you seeâ"
he kissed you before you could finish.
"i did."
you gave him a look with furrowed brows. "you didnât even let me finish. how do you even know what iâm talking about?"
he shrugged, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. "because i love my girlfriend."
"hm, you're right."
"seriously though, i thought i told you to watch where you step?"
you groaned, throwing your head back against the pillows. "i tripped on a girl's foot because she was trying to step towards you guys. not my fault."
he scrunched his face. "okay, you're right."
you let out a laugh, peering at his phone as he opened up the weverse app.
"are you gonna go live?"
"why would i go live with you in the room?"
"i thought you didn't care." you teased.
ni-ki grunted, pulling up jay's current weverse live. "he's already live anyways." you opened your eyes a little wider. "join him, i promise i won't make any noise."
he took a moment before looking at you.
he gave you another kiss, soft this time on the lips. "one more kiss before i go live."
you smiled while lying down comfortably, going on your phone with your airpods in your ears.
ni-ki clicked the join button for jay's live, which jay immediately accepted it.
"hey!â oh?.. are you in your hotel room right now?" jay was pictured sitting on the couch, while ni-ki was laying in bedâ only half of his face showing.
"i am."
jay nodded, puckering his lips out. "oh, alright."
"hi engene." ni-ki spoke while placing his hand on your leg, drawing small circles on your skin. your hand travelled down to his, giving it a small squeeze.
â SYNOPSIS â Some say thereâs a very thin line between hatred and desire, & maybe it is true after all. You and Riki are the worst of enemies; you hate him with your whole chestâ he hates you right back. The question is, how long does it take for a line like that to dissolve and for bodies to finally speak their truths? playlist + leniency edit by @chrissindica
warnings: heavy degradation, sabotaging, enemies (i donât say this lightly), idolxidol, toxic and awful behaviours, slutshaming, name calling. not an enemies to lovers ! forced proximity, physical violence, bruising, hitting, throwing up, NSFW tags : hate-fuck, wet dreams, heel kink/ leg kink, lots of sexual tension, unwanted arousal, size kink, degradation, choking, dry humping, hair pulling, scratching, violent sex, unprotected sex, humiliation, brat taming, scratching just filth.
Hatred is a strange thing, really; it remembers what love forgets. Given enough time, love begins to sand away the roughness until all that's left is nostalgiaâ hatred, however, does exactly the opposite.
Eventually, there comes a point where you stop asking who's right and who's wrong because the years blur the details until only the feeling remains. You no longer remember the first offenseâonly the certainty that if a room catches fire, you'll check whether Nishimura Riki is still inside before you leave.
After all, neither of you ever fought fairâ honestly, why would you?
See, mercy is naturally reserved for people you love and indifference is for strangers. Hatred, on the other handâ real hatredâis far more intimate. It learns your habits, memorizes your weaknesses, and waits until you're already bleeding before deciding exactly where to press.
That's the part people never seem to understand.
They like to believe hatred has humble beginnings because it reassures them that it can also be undone; they tell themselves that, given enough patience, enough time, someone will eventually show forgiveness.
But leniency is reserved for those who believe the other deserves it.
You never did.
Nishimura Riki never deservedâ nor earnedâthat leniency.
There's this thing called irony. You've had enough of it, yet it just keeps coming back anywayâ unwanted, unpromptedâas if it simply can't help itself. As if its sole purpose in life is to ruin yours every single time it decides to show up.
Funnily enough, today is no exception.
The automatic doors of Incheon airport slide open, spitting you and the rest of R3SET into the humid Seoul air. Cameras flash somewhere in the distanceâ paparazzi already swarming your arrival; Hye-ri walks on your left, Mina on your right, and Sera trails a step behind with her hood pulled low.
You're finallyâ finallyâdone with the world tour.
By now, every city has bled into the next; hotels all smelled the same, airport lounges became second home, and every day disssolbed into the same cycle of soundchecks, stages, and performances so loud you had to get your hearing checked on a regular basis. Somewhere along the way, you'd forgotten what it felt like to wake up in the same bed twice.
But today, for the first time in months, you're home.
Which, as irony would have it, is exactly where everything is about to go wrong.
Youâre clutching a water bottle in your hand, trying to make sure your face is shielded from the flashes with the other yet your pathetic little instinct says itâs a good idea to reach for your phone when it buzzes in your pocket.
As you glance down to the screenâ expecting a welcome-back email from your manager or something absolutely useless like thatâ you see instead the HYBE logo staring right back at you.
Subject: Year-End Special Collaboration Project â Confirmed Pairing
Your thumb hovers but you already know. Deep in your gut, you fucking know.
But you open it anyway.
...R3SET's Y/n will be paired with ENHYPEN's NI-KI for the 4-minute original dance performance piece. Joint choreography development begins immediately. Mandatory attendance at all scheduled practices, filming days, and rehearsals. Non-compliance will result in...
The rest blurs, it doesn't even matter.
"Fuck." The word slips out under your breath, low and venomous.
Your fingers tighten around the phone until your knuckles crack hardâ nails digging crescents into your palm. You keep squeezing until the skin breaks and warm little lines of pain bloom.
Hye-ri notices, her eyes flick to your white-knuckled grip, then away, and Mina's shoulders stiffen. None of your members speak, hah, they know better. Everyone knows talking about the devil is a no-go.
See, some people pray before they sleep, some people do skincare, or meditation. You? You rehearse arguments with Nishimura Riki, you plot his downfall, and you clench your teeth so hard they might break in your mouth.
It's become routine, really, and now you can already hear his stupid voice in your headâ sharp, accented, dripping with disgust. "Ugly bitch. Always ruining shit for everyone else."
The same things he's muttered under his breath every time your paths crossed at award shows. The same venom you've always returned by feeding your private hate account the most unflattering behind-the-scenes clips you could find of him.
Usually, if he dared looking smug on stage, you made sure someone clipped the moments he stumbled or looked exhausted.
Petty? Maybe. Satisfying? Abso-fucking-lutely.
A staff member in a Hybe windbreaker rushes past, nearly colliding with you and your shoulder slams into his. Pain flares, but you barely register it, you're too busy being angry.
"Shitâ sorry," you mutter automatically, voice flat. The staff blinks at you, startled, but you're already moving again, eyes burning holes into the floor.
Mina finally breaks the silence, voice low enough that only the group can hear. "You good?"
"No." Your laugh is bitter, barely a sound. "They paired me with that fraud, of course I'm not good."
Sera's hand brushes your arm in silent support, but she doesn't say anything. What is there to say? Erm...Good luck? Don't kill each other? The company doesn't care if you hate Riki, they want the drama and the numbersâ the "tension" that fans already whisper about in forums.
You force your fingers to unclench, blood dots your palm in tiny red half-moons but you wipe it discreetly on your sweatpants.
The roar of fans and cameras grows louder as you approach the arrival gateâ bright lights, screaming voices chanting your name and phones held high are waiting for you. You pull your black facemask up over your nose and mouth in one smooth motion and roll your shoulders back, lift your chin, to let the practiced smile bleed into your eyes even if it never reaches your mouth.
Hye-ri links arms with you on cue, Mina waves with both hands, bright and bubbly and you all fall into formation like muscle memory.
"Y/n unnie! Welcome back!"
"R3SET fighting!"
You bow slightly toward the crowd, eyes crinkling above the mask in the perfect illusion of gratitude. Let's just say, inside, your mind is a storm of curses in three languages.
Nishimura fucking Riki.
You can already picture the first practice: his tall frame taking up way too much space in the studio, that stupid frown, the way he'll deliberately step on your timing just to watch you fail. The way his hands will have to touch you during lifts and turns because the choreographer will demand chemistry you'll never have.
You want to break something. Preferably his ugly nose.
But the cameras are rolling, the fans are watching and on top of everything, the company email has made it very clearâ this project is non-negotiable. So you keep smiling behind the mask, waving with one hand while the other stays clenched around your bottle.
'Let's see how long we last before one of us actually tries to kill the other', you think as you move toward the waiting vans.
You already know the answer.
Not long.
You might wonder what brings a woman and a man to such lengths of hatred. And the difficult part is that there's no real explanation; it's just an accumulation reallyâ tiny cuts over years that fester into something grotesque.
One day you're both wide-eyed trainees sweating through sixteen-hour days, and the next you're fantasizing about drop-kicking Nishimura Riki off a stage mid-performance while smiling for the fans.
That's the thing, it's not dramatic movie-villain origin shit. It's the slow poison of shared survival in an industry that chews up kids and spits out Barbie dolls.
A stolen practice slot here, a whispered rumor there, a public meltdown that paints you as the problem while he plays the misunderstood genius, and a TV scandal that ruined everything. Add in sleep deprivation, pressure, and the fact that you both watched each other's dreams nearly die, and boomâ they created the perfect nemesis.
By now, you've replayed every second so many times it feels like a greatest-hits album in your brain. Rikiâs smug little smirk when he nailed a combo you'd been killing yourself over. The way he'd mutter "amateur" just loud enough for you to hear during evaluations. Your secret satisfaction when his group's early promotions hit minor bumps.
It's all so stupid and so fucking deep at the same time. Because that's the problem with hatredâ it doesn't have to make sense to become permanent. Some people have childhood trauma... you just have Nishimura Riki.
The flashbacks hit you sometimes like a bad smell you can't escape. It always starts the same way; elimination day on I-LAND; the lights were way too bright, the cameras too close, and the air felt thick enough to choke on. You remember the way the eliminated trainees stood in that sterile line, faces blank or streaked with tears. Riki's japanese hyung Hajime âhis only real anchor in that cutthroat dormâdidn't make the final cut. The announcement echoed through the hall like a death sentence and even now, years later you can still hear it.
The kid had talent, sure, but the system didn't care. It pushed and pushed and pushed until even the strongest cracked under the weight of evaluations, rankings, and endless comparisons.
You were just trying to survive too, right? Everyone was. Thats why you did what you did that day, and why you kept doing it out of pure pettiness.
The company fed you lines about "growth" and "teamwork," when talking about the trainee program, but really it was a meat grinder dressed up in sparkly dresses. Childrenâ literal teenagersâbreaking down in practice rooms at 3 am., vomiting from exhaustion, smiling for the livestreams like nothing was wrong. Friendships formed and shattered in the span of a single ranking drop.
Loyalties? Laughable.
You did what you had to do: submitted the feedback that protected your own team. Cold? Maybe. Necessary? In that hellscape, yes.
Riki, though, didn't see it that way. He exploded in the hallway afterward, voice cracking with rage, calling you out in front of everyone. That moment branded him "difficult" and nearly cost him everything. You watched his dream wobble on the edge while yours steadied and the industry kept spinning, indifferent to the bodies it left behind.
Some debuted. Some didn't.
But weâll get to that story another time.
Back in the present, a couple days passed since you came back to Seoulâ you're now sitting in a Hybe conference room turned temporary press hall, legs crossed tightly under the table so no one sees your knee bouncing like it's trying to escape your body.
It's the kickoff press conference for the year-end special collaboration, cameras are everywhere and so are reporters with microphones poised like weapons. Your members are seated a few chairs down, shooting you sympathetic glances when they think the cameras aren't looking.
Across from you, flanked by his members, sits the devil himself: Nishimura Riki.
He looks disgustingly repulsive in his all-black fitâ sharp jawline, dyed blond hair styled just right, that stupid tall frame slouched like he owns the room. You want to throw your mic at his head and watch it split open.
The MC, some overly enthusiastic guy in a suit two sizes too tight, beams at the crowd. "Welcome everyone! Today we're excited to announce this groundbreaking collaboration between R3SET and Enhypen! Let's hear from the groups themselves!"
Forced applause ripples through the room and you plaster on your idol smileâ eyes bright, lips curvedâ the works. Inside your head it's a completely different scene:
'Smile wider, you fraudulent prick. I hope your next flip lands on your neck.'
Riki mirrors your expression perfectly. To the cameras, you two look like respectful colleagues but up close? His eyes scream 'I hope you trip on stage and eat shit in front of twenty thousand people.'
The MC shoves a mic toward you first. "Y/n! How do you feel about partnering with Riki for this high-stakes piece?"
You lean forward slightly, voice honey-sweet and professional. "I'm really honored to be working with someone as talented as Riki. We're both dedicated to this, so I know we'll deliver something amazing for the fans."
Translation: 'I would rather gargle battery acid than spend one minute in a practice room with that entitled dance prodigy asshole.'
Riki's turn comes. He chuckles lightly, the sound obviously practiced, but you catch the micro-twitch in his jaw. "Yeah, same. Y/n has great stage presence. Looking forward to creating something cool together."
'Cool?' you think. 'I'll create a crime scene, maybe.'
The MC eats it up. "Ah, such great chemistry already! Let's do a quick joint Q&A. Reporters, go ahead."
A reporter stands. "There have been past rumors of some tension between you two from trainee days. How will you overcome that for this project?"
The room goes a little quieterâ your smile doesn't falter, but your nails dig into your thigh under the table.
Riki answers first, voice calm. "Trainee days were tough for everyone. We've both grown a lot since then. Right, Y/n?"
You nod, locking eyes with him. "Absolutely. Water under the bridge, we're focused on the performance now."
Water under the bridge? More like gasoline on a bonfire.
Another reporter asks, "Riki, what's your first impression of working with Y/n?"
He tilts his head, pretending to think. "She's very... determined. Always gives 110%. I respect that."
Determined. Just a way of saying 'ruthless backstabber,' for him.
You jump in before he can enjoy his little jab. "And Riki's technique is insane. It'll be fun pushing each other, right?" Your tone is light, playful even and the audience laughs appreciatively.
The press conference drags on like a hostage situationâ they make you do a short segment where you both stand up and demonstrate a basic partner hold for the cameras. His hand lands on your waistâ firm and professional, but you can tell heâs dying to take it off. Your skin crawls but you place your hand on his shoulder like the choreographer instructed earlier in rehearsal. Up close, he smells like expensive cologne and it makes nausea rise so violently in your throat that you want to throw up on the spot.
"Relax your grip," he mutters under his breath, smile still plastered on for the flashing cameras. "Or are you trying to claw me in front of everyone?"
"Shut the fuck up and smile, giraffe," you whisper back, voice sugary.
His fingers press harder into your waistâ just enough to bruise, not enough for anyone else to notice. You dig your nails into his shoulder in return and the cameras click wildly.
You both separate after the pose, returning to your seatsâ of course, your members are trying not to laugh nervously while Jake leans over to whisper something to Riki that makes his jaw clench. Good, you hope it breaks.
The MC claps. "Wonderful! Now, let's hear some fan questions!"
A staff member reads one aloud: "What's one thing you're excited to learn from each other?"
You go first this time. "I'm excited to learn Riki's precision in footwork. He's known for it."
And you're also excited to learn how far you can push him before he snaps on camera.
Riki's eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. "Y/n's charisma in performance is next level. I'll definitely pick up some tips on audience connection."
The back-and-forth continuesâ every compliment laced with venom only the two of you can taste. The audience eats up the "tension" as chemistry.
Oh God, if only they knew you'd spent the van ride here mentally drafting apology tweets for the hypothetical day you actually murder him.
At one point, they project concept art for the performance on a big screen behind youâ dark, intense, sensual choreography planned; close partner work, lifts and prolonged eye contact. The MC gushes about it and you nearly choke on your own spit.
Great. Just what you needâhis hands all over you while yours fantasize about elbowing him in the ribs until he throws up his organs.
Riki's expression stays neutral, but you swear you see his eye twitchâ he probably imagines the same thing in reverse.
Halfway through, they bring out small giftsâ matching bracelets symbolizing the collaboration. You have to clasp one on his wrist while cameras zoom in; his skin is warm, you hate itâ but heâs obligated to return the favor, fingers brushing yours with shameless disgust.
Then the press conference wraps with more applause and photo ops; you stand side-by-side for group shots, shoulders barely touching but close enough that you can feel his body. His hand brushes your lower back as you poseâ publicly supportive, privately a threat.
"After this, I'm blocking your number again," you mutter as the cameras flash.
"Already did that months ago, ugly bitch," he whispers back cheerfully.
As the event ends and staff start herding everyone out, you catch his eye one last time across the roomâ needless to say, it's pure murder, zero remorse.
You smirk behind your polite nod.
Game on, Riki. Someone's going to break. You just hope it's him. (though if it's you, at least you'll take him down with you.)
The van ride back to the dorm is quiet, your members chat lightly about the schedule while you stare out the window, palm still stinging from earlier, replaying every micro-interaction. His grip. His whisper. That fucking ugly smirk.
Oh godâ hatred has turned you into a creature of rage and despair, itâs starting to become pathetic.
You pull out your phone and open the secret hate account; it's time to upload that one blurry shot you sneaked during the photo op where he looks slightly constipated under the bright lights.
Petty? Yes. Therapeutic? Immensely.
For your sakeâ somewhere across the city, Riki's probably doing the same thing, so itâs only fair. You log into your @nishimurafraud aka âthat bitch gotta goâ and do your thing, quickly posting the ridiculous picture with the caption, âthank you to the fan who snapped this horrible shot of dickimuraâ.
You laugh to yourselfâ itâs true that itâs childish and ridiculous but no one will ever know it was you anyway.
Nishimura Riki needs to die.
Not in a cute "hahaha i hate you" way. You mean it in the bone-deep, stomach-churning, 'if I had a knife I'd turn him into human barbecue meat' kind of way.
Every time you picture his stupid face your blood pressure spikes so hard you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. He's not even attractive to you anymoreâ years of hatred have warped him into this tall, lanky, smug-faced asshole who moves like he's God's gift to dance but looks like a little bitch when he's off-guard.
Ugly on the inside, ugly on the outside. Perfect match.
And now âa few days afterâ the locked studio on the fifth floor of the Hybe building feels like a prison cell designed specifically to torture you. Soundproof walls, mirrors on every surface, no windows, and a door that clicks shut with a sound that makes your skin crawl.
Just you, him, the choreographer who already left a couple times for a "quick break" (though heâs probably hiding from the murder vibes), and four hours of mandatory choreography creation time.
You stretch in the corner, trying to ignore how his presence sucks all the oxygen out of the roomâ Rikiâs scrolling on his phone like he has all the time in the world, legs spread obnoxiously wide on the floor, heâs wearing a pair of ugly oversized sweats and a chrome hearts tank.
He probably thought he looked oh so good that morning when he got dressedâ fun fact, he doesnât.
"You gonna stand up or just sit there?" you snap, not even bothering to look at him.
"Don't talk to me, just do your job and shut up." he clicks his tongue, knee bouncing, annoyed.
You let out a breathy chuckle, "I don't care about what you want, just stand up and let's get to work. Try not to be a lazy slop for once."
"Oh give me a break," he hisses the second the choreographer is gone, not even looking up. âStart alone if youâre so eager to work.â
What youâre gonna do is start throwing punches.
You laugh humourlessly. "Keep throwing your little fits and maybe they'll finally send you back to Japan, dickface."
His head snaps up, those dark eyes narrowing into slits. "At least I have talent worth exporting. What do you have? Average face, average moves, and a shit personality."
"Fuck you," you spit, stepping into the center of the room. "Let's just get this over with."
The choreographer left a rough structure: heavy partner work, intense eye contact, sharp isolations into fluid lifts. Of course. Because the company wants chemistry. What they're going to get though, is a motherfucking homicide report.
You start with the basicsâ mirroring footwork. Riki's annoyingly precise, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of looking impressed, instead, you mutter under your breath, "Stiff as a fucking board. Do you even bend or is your spine made of rebar?"
Riki stops mid-count, turning to you with a glare that makes you want to punch his teeth in. "Stop looking at me and then maybe youâll realise how off-beat you are⌠no wonder they paired you with meâ someone actually good."
"Good?" You step closer, hands on your hips. "You're sloppy as shit. The only reason it works is because you're young and pretty and the delusional fans like that overgrown baby face. One day that shit's gonna catch up and you'll just be another weirdo doing Tiktoks in your mom's basement."
He barks a laugh that sounds like it hurts. "Coming from you? That's rich. You're mid at best on a good day, repulsive on every other."
The insults fly faster as you run the first section again, every correction turning into verbal evisceration.
"You're rushing the transition, can't keep up, ugly ass?" he sneers during a spin combo.
"Shut up," you fire back. "Fix your damn posture before I break it for you."
By the time you reach the partner lifts, the air is drenched with venom; he has to grip your waist and lift you into a hold, his fingers dig in hardâbruising, punishing. You retaliate by digging your elbow into his shoulder as you balance.
"Watch it," he growls, voice low.
"Make me, bitch."
The lift goes upâ for three seconds it's almost beautifulâtechnically. But then you shove off him harder than necessary on the dismount, and he pushes you back just enough that you stumble.
"You fuckingâ" You whirl on him, fists clenched.
"What do you want now?" His chest is heaving, face inches from yours. Up close he's even uglierâ that stupid mole, the way his lip curls like he smells something rotten. You. "You know what y/n? I hope this stage is where your career dies, that'll finally shut you up. I think youâve gotten way too comfortable.â
You shove him hard in the chest and he shoves right back. For a split second you're both seconds away from throwing actual punchesâ knuckles white, breathing ragged, eyes screaming murder. Your heart is pounding with rage and something sickeningly close to adrenaline.
The studio door clicks open before you can use your fistsâ a staff member walks in, freezing at the sight of you two practically snarling at each other.
"Everything... okay?" the staff asks hesitantly.
You step back first, forcing that professional mask on. "Perfect. Just working through some difficult transitions."
Riki wipes sweat from his brow, smiling like an angel for the staff. "Yeah. Great progress."
The staff nods awkwardly and leaves after reminding you of the scheduleâ the door locks again and you both exhale like you've been holding your breath for an hour.
"Stay the fuck away from me until we have to touch again," you mutter, grabbing your water bottle.
"Gladly."
The session drags like that for hoursâ insults layered between actual choreography notes, every touch turning into a power struggle. By the end you're both exhausted, bruised, vibrating with hatred and you leave without a word, slamming the door behind you.
Later that night, in the Enhypen dorm, Riki's sprawled on the couch scrolling through his phone with a scowl that could curdle milk. Jake walks in from the kitchen, humming, clearly in a good mood. He clears his throat, trying to sound casual at first. "So... choreo with Y/n today? I caught some of the teaser clips from the press conference earlier. She looks really good..."
Riki doesn't look up immediately, but his eyebrow twitches. "You're kidding, right?"
Jake continues, slower. "I mean... no, and you're probably gonna laugh but I've been thinking about her a lot lately. I don't know, man, I might... have a bit of a crush. Like, actually considering shooting my shot after this project wraps. She seems cool."
Jungwon, from the hallway, goes, "Oh shit, here we go..."
Riki slowly lowers his phone, staring at Jake like he just confessed to arsonâ the silence stretches for a beat before he explodes with disbelief "There's 7 billion people on this planet and you chose her? Good job man... nah, good job."
Jake chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Come on, she's notâ"
Jay, overhearing from the other couch, jumps in. "She's not all that bad come on... you're lying to yourself it's dramatic."
"I'm not. She's ugly, bitchy, and dumb. What the fuck could he even see in her." Riki sits up straighter, fully committed and disgusted. "You're seriously just going to forget everything she did? All that... for a mid, ridiculous bitch?"
Sunoo intervenes, rolling his eyes, "You don't need to say all that Riki, don't call her a bitch. Honestly it's not that deep, we were young and..."
"Aaaand i don't care." Riki cuts off. "Good luck Jake, you're gonna regret this. You're gonna get herpes all over your dickâ gonna start shooting your intestines straight out of your ass."
Jake is half-chuckling, half-horrified. "Dude... what the hell are you even saying."
"What im saying is, if you pursue that, I'm disowning you as a member. Find someone else. Anyone."
Jay wheezes from the couch. "Let him do whatever he wants to do. Y/n isn't even bad, she's sweet and pretty"
"You're dead wrong," Riki says, dead serious. "While you're at it Jake, do me a favor and take my place in rehearsal so I won't have to lift her disgusting ass again."
The words feel good, cathartic even, he pictures your face during that final shove in the studio and smiles spitefully at the ceiling. The satisfaction slandering your name brings him is unmatched.
Okay, you really didnât make much of an effort these past few weeksâ youâll admit it. But, to your credit, pretending to tolerate Nishimura Riki was already taking more restraint than you possessed. The company wanted chemistry but come onâ letâs be honest, subtlety had never been your strong suit when it came to him.
Back in the R3SET dorm, youâre sprawled across the couch in oversized sweats, phone glowing in your hand like a bomb that just went off. The email from Hybe sits open on the screen, the words burning into your retinas. Hye-ri pads in from the kitchen with two iced americanos, sliding one onto the coffee table before dropping down beside you.
âOh shit, man, Iâm in deep trouble,â you mutter, shoving the phone toward her.
You snort despite yourself. âCompany just sent me an email⌠apparently people all over social media are saying me and Nishimura look like we despise each other. Like⌠hello? Duh? Tell me something I donât know.â
Hye-ri winces, sipping her drink. âThey really need to media train you, oh my god. You need to retake the whole class.â
You chuckle coldly, âThis hatred cannot be media trained out of me, Hye-ri,â you say, half-laughing, half-serious, âIâll drag that motherfucker down, whatever it takes. No one can convince me to stop.â
âOkay but at least be slick about it, Y/n.â
âHell no. If I start behaving normally these crazy ass fans might startââ you gag dramatically, ââshipping me with him.â
Hye-ri hesitates, then pulls out her own phone with a sympathetic grimace. âUmm⌠I hate to break it to you, Y/n. Donât be mad okay? But like⌠they already do.â
She types quickly, and turns the screen toward you. A random tweet stares back: âOh i know that angry enemy sex must be sooo good. #yn #nikiâ
Oh fuck these people, come on.
âEw what the heck???â You recoil, shoving the phone away like itâs contagious. âUgh Iâm gonna throw up, hold my hair.â
Hye-ri laughs, rubbing your back as you dramatically fake-heave into a pillow. âItâs just delusional fans, unnie. They ship anything that breathes in the same zip code. But yeah⌠the companyâs not wrong about the optics.âŚâ
You sit up, running a hand through your hair. Every interaction with Riki these past weeks had been a masterclass in restraintâ smiling for the cameras while imagining shoving him off a balconyâ and now Hybe was sniffing around like youâd personally ruined their precious brand synergy.
âThey want me to play nice,â you say bitterly, staring at the email again. âBut every time Iâm in the same room as him it feels like my skinâs on fire. Like my body remembers every shitty thing heâs ever said or done and just⌠revolts. Literally what do they want me to do for a whole month ?â
Hye-ri lets out an awkward laugh, she knows that topic is highly sensitive and she doesnât really know how to talk about it. âWell, just donât talk to him, try to be neutral and donât bother arguing with him.â
Itâs so hard not to argue when Nishimura Riki is another level of messy. The kind that makes your stomach turn and your skin want to peel itself off just from sharing the same airâ heâs the toxic spill that contaminates everything it touches.
And since the company doesnât give a damn about your mutual revulsionâ here you are, dragged into another locked studio at 9 PM for a forced 12-hour overnight practice because the higher-ups decided âchemistry needs timeâ and deadlines donât care about your desire to see him drop dead.
Itâs been a week since the talk in the dorms with Hye-ri, and you triedâ god you really tried to follow her advice, but itâs impossible.
The mirrors probably make it worseâ every angle reflects his repulsive presence. You canât escape him. Your skin prickles the second the door locks and itâs just the two of you under the cold lights.
Rikiâs already there, scrolling on his phone with that bored expression that says heâd rather be anywhere but near you. Itâs a good thing you feel the same way.
The choreographer dips out around midnight with a vague âreview the footage yourselves.â Leaving you two in hell. You start the first run-through in silence; during a simple mirroring sequence, his arm brushes yours accidentally and you jerk away like heâs diseased, skin crawling violently.
âTry not to fucking touch me,â you snap. âAre you spatially impaired or something?â
âThatâs not even a thing, you idiot. And you think I wanna be touching a backstabbing bitch?â Rikiâs lip tighten. âDonât think i forgot everything you did back then.â
You roll your eyes, âOh for fuckâs sake, just shut up for once.â
The tall man snaps, he turns to you and looks down with hatred, âNo, everyoneâs forgetting your little bitch act but I wonât. You sold out Hajime just to save your own ass cause youâre an egoistic idiot⌠Should I continue or do you actually feel guilty for once?â
The words hit like acid, your blood boils and you whip around, hatred flaring. âAnd your little public tantrum right after? Exploding in the hallway, screaming at me in front of everyone, nearly tanked my entire evaluation. Donât act like you were some saint, Riki. We both know youâre the bitch here.â
He stares at you with pure loathing, âWhatever you say, one day youâre gonna have to face it y/n, letâs just finish this shit so I donât have to look at your face anymore.â
Some time after; the micro-sabotage starts small but vicious. In the next lift sequence, he âmissteps,â his foot catching your ankle just enough to make you stumble hard.
Pain shoots up your leg but you recover by raking your nails subtly down his arm as you catch yourselfâ leaving red lines under his sleeve. Riki hisses but keeps moving, eyes burning.
Your skin crawls every time his hands land on your waist for the holds. It feels violating, wrong. You dig your fingers into his shoulder harder than needed, hoping it bruises deep.
âDisgusting,â you mutter under your breath during one close turn.
You force some semblance of work conversation because the company is monitoring progress, but even that doesnât work.
âYour count is off on the transition,â you say through gritted teeth, skin prickling as you reset positions.
âYeah, because youâre rushing it like an amateur,â he replies.
It keeps going until you both have no saliva and inspiration left and around 5 am, during the most intense partner sequenceâ close holds, prolonged eye contact, bodies pressed together for balanceâyou both mistime the transition.
Your foot catches his, and his arm wraps around you instinctively as momentum pulls you down. You crash to the practice floor in a tangle of limbs, his body half-covering yours, chests heaving.
For a second, neither of you moves.
His face is inches from yours, sweat-damp hair falling into his eyes. You can feel the heat of him everywhereâthighs, chest, the press of his hand still on your waist.
âGet off me,â you whisper, but your voice comes out rougher than intended.
He doesnât immediately, his eyes flick down to your mouth with disgust, then back up. âYouâre the one still holding my shirt.â
You are, your fingers are fisted in the fabric. You release it like it burned you, bile rising in your throat.
You scramble up, heart pounding with rageâ you both avoid eye contact, but the image of his body over yours lingers like a scar until youâre seconds away from throwing up.
Around 6 am, another company email hits and obviously yours is brutal: Y/nâs sections lack conviction. Visible panic affecting flow. Fix immediately or risk replacement.
You read it in the corner, alone, hands starting to shake as the pressure, exhaustion, and years of fighting catch up. Panic claws at your throat so you turn away, trying to breathe through it, hating that youâre cracking even a little.
Riki notices from across the room, of course, he doesnât comfortâ he stays in his corner of the room, a mocking smirk creeping onto his face despite the exhaustion. This, is his favorite sight, he thrives whenever he sees you break even a little.
So all he can do is laugh coldly, he despises you, hates how you get under his skin, hates that he canât stop seeing images of your younger self betraying him over and over.
But what he loves thoughâ is that you could be begging on your knees and heâd still want you dead.
You push open the studio door a couple hours later, legs like lead and eyes burning from the all-nighter; every muscle screams, your ankle still throbs from that âaccidentalâ trip, and your brain is a delightful cocktail of rage and exhaustion.
Youâre thinking about the long nap youâre gonna take as soon as youâre home, when you spot Sim Jake leaning against the wall a few meters down, looking unfairly fresh for this ungodly hour. Heâs holding a small paper bag, shifting his weight like a nervous puppy.
âHey y/n,â he says, offering a shy smile as you approach. âI⌠uh, grabbed some pastries earlier. Got extra ones I wonât finish. Want some?â
He holds the bag out and you blink at him, brain too fried to compute kindness immediately. Extra my ass, those look suspiciously hand-picked.
Before you can answer, the studio door swings open againâ Riki steps out right behind you, tall frame radiating pure irritationâ his eyes land on Jake, the pastries, and you standing there and his jaw tightens so hard youâre surprised it doesnât crack. He huffs loudly- dramatic as everâshoves his hands in his pockets, and stalks off down the hall without a word.
Jake watches him go, then glances back at your narrowing eyes as they stare at Rikiâs retreating back.
He chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck. âSo⌠about those pastries. And, um⌠would you maybe wanna grab lunch sometime? When weâre not both half-dead from schedules.â He glances around quickly, making sure no staff is lurking.
So it wasnât about the pastries at all.
You raise an eyebrow, suspicion kicking in instantly. Is this a trap? Is Riki putting him up to this so he can watch you crash and burn? Some elaborate plot to humiliate you?
âIs there a catch?â you cross your arms.
He shakes his head, sincere. âNo catch. Just me.â
You let out a tired but genuine little chuckle. âMhh okay then. Okay. Lunch sounds good.â
His face lights up like you just handed him a winning lottery ticket and you take a pastry from the bagâ still warmâbefore waving him off to head toward the van waiting downstairs.
Cute. Annoyingly wholesome. The anti-Riki.
Back at the dorm you collapse onto your bed for approximately three seconds before your stomach growls loud enough to wake the dead. Right. Food.
You drag yourself to your laptop, intending to quickly google whether that leftover kimchi jjigae in the fridge is still safe or if itâs entered its âbiohazardâ era and fingers moving on autopilot, you hit the search bar.
And remember what we said about irony? Well it seems that bitch is the main character in your lifeâ it lives and thrives on your embarrassment.
Your search history pops up first on your phone, snapping you back to reality. Oh well.
You stare, then you stare harder. Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.
Youâve forgot to mention this part of the hatredâ the one where, no matter how many times you make yourself throw up, you still canât stop yourself from analyzing the enemyâ studying his technique so you can dismantle it during practice.
Riki precision really isâŚ. insaneâ it hurt to admit but itâs the truth. The way he isolates his movements, the control in those lifts, the ridiculous height giving him lines you had to match or exceed⌠Youâve been rewatching his clips more than you care to admit, picking apart what makes him good so you could be better.
So you could beat him.
âFucking hell,â you groan, slamming the laptop shut and face-planting into your pillow.
Stockholm syndrome probably. Yeah.
Needless to sayâ a few days later you find yourself sitting next to Sim Jake while he talks about different foods he misses from Australia. Interestingâ but also existentially confusing, because hereâs this cutie pie of a man rambling sweetly about meat pies and Vegemite like itâs the pinnacle of human cuisineâ and your brain keeps short-circuiting back to someoneâs dancing skills.
ââand honestly the Tim Tams are killer, but nothing beats a proper Aussie burger with beetroot,â Jake says, his knee brushing yours under the table as he leans in a little closer. âYou ever tried any of that stuff? Iâd love to make you my infamous version sometime.â
You blink, a small smirk tugging at your lips. âIs that an invitation?â
His eyes crinkle, clearly pleased. âItâs definitely an invitation. I make a mean one.â He steals a fry from your plate, holding eye contact the whole time like itâs a dare.
And itâs niceâ really nice. Jake feels nice, and safe and everything in between. A good friend.
You laugh, reaching over to snag one of his own fries in retaliation, letting your fingers linger just a second longer than necessary. âBold move. I see how it isâ you lure me in with pastries and now youâre offering private cooking lessons.â
He chuckles, low and easy, shifting so his arm rests along the back of your chair. âWhat can I say? I like spoiling good company. And youâŚâ His gaze flicks over your face, appreciative. âYou make it easy to want to spoil.â
Oh. Oookay. Sim Jakeâs got game.
Your stomach does a stupid little flip despite yourselfâ itâs been so long since anyone looked at you without layers of politeness or pure venom, that the attention feels almost foreign.
âYeah? Keep talking like that and I might start thinking this lunch is less âcasual hangâ and more âdate,ââ you tease, tilting your head as you take a sip of your drink, watching him over the rim. You donât even mean it at first, it just slips out, friendly and teasing.
Much to your surprise Jake doesnât miss a beat. âWould that be so bad?â he asks, voice playful but with a genuine edge underneath. âBecause Iâve been wanting to do this for a while, schedules be damned.â
You feel heat creep up your neck but play it cool, nudging his shoulder with yours. âAh⌠dangerous territory, Mr. Australia. I might actually say yes to that burger night you know?â
âDeal then,â he says immediately, his smile widening into something brighter and flirtier.
And who knows? This could be good, right? Thereâs not shame in wanting to hang out with sweet Jake and get a taste of normal life, burgers and all.
Mid-project evaluation hits like a goddamn truckâ and honestly everyone expected it (everyone = you and your own brain).
The conference room feels narrower than usual, air thick with disappointmentâ suits from the creative team sit across the table like judges at an execution, projecting footage of your latest run-through on the big screen.
The choreography looks technically good in momentsâ your footwork clean, his lines ridiculous as alwaysâbut the notes flashing across the slide are brutal: Lacks cohesion. Emotional disconnect visible. Partner chemistry reads as forced tension rather than intentional fire. Fix by weekend or we reevaluate the performance slot.
You clench your jaw so hard it aches, nails digging into your thighs under the table. Of course itâs not cohesive, how the fuck do they expect magic when every touch makes your skin crawl like youâre hugging a venomous snake?
Riki sits a few seats away, face blank like heâs above it all, but you catch the micro-twitch in his jawâ he hates this as much as you do. Good.
The exec in the middle drones on, voice flat and disappointed. âWeâre seeing potential, but the audience needs to feel something. Right now it looks like you two are tolerating each other at best.â
Tolerating? You almost laugh out loud. Try actively plotting each otherâs demise between counts.
Your manager shoots you a warning glance, so you force a polite nod, but inside youâre screaming. Even in your twenties, this makes you feel like a kid getting grounded all over againâstuck in detention with the one classmate who ruined every group project. No phone, no freedom, just endless practice until you âget it right.â The infantilizing tone of it all makes your blood boil. Youâre professionals⌠sort ofâ but sure, they should lock you in a room like misbehaving toddlers.
The meeting is short and soul-crushing. âWeâre locking the studio for the full weekend,â one exec says flatly. âNo outside schedules. Fix it.â
You donât even look at Riki as you leave. You donât need toâ the tension follows you both like a shadow.
48 hours to manufacture chemistry out of pure hatred is a flawed way of proceeding. Give it a lifetimeâ and then maybe just maybe itâll be enough.
The studio door clicks shut 7 pm that next Friday, the lock engaging like a prison cell. No choreographer. No staff. Just the two of you, mirrors on every wall as you stretch in the corner, trying to ignore how his presence sucks the oxygen out of the room. Rikiâs already there, him and that obnoxious slouch.
Thereâs something you have yet to admitâ itâs that you learned Nishimura Riki the way soldiers learn battlefieldsâ every weakness mapped, every tell memorized, every micro-expression a potential opening for attack. You could recognize his silhouette before your own reflection: the tall frame, the slight tilt of his head when heâs about to strike, the way his shoulders tense right before a difficult transition. But no matter how much you study him, you could never pin point why you loathe him so much.
Itâs like your ambition had slowly borrowed his faceâ every late-night practice, every ranking you clawed for, every mirror checkâ his standard was burned into your brain. This comes from the principle that, there are people you love because they understand youâ and then there are people who understand you because theyâve spent years trying to defeat you.
Hatred kept you facing one another long after affection wouldâve looked away.
Itâs better this way.
Two ugly souls like yours could never be more than rivals.
The first run-through starts in heavy silenceâ you move into position and Riki does the same. No words are uttered, just eyes tracking every shift of weight, every breath, every subtle adjustment.
Youâve been hanging out a lot with Jake this past weekâ as often as the schedule allowed, and youâve started to wonder if giving him a chance was a good think. Technically speakingâ Jake was a total sweetheart, he carried his heart on his sleeve, offered amazing advice and had good cooking skills.
Butâ and here it comesâ you really werenât ready for anything serious. Common excuse really, but that wasnât an excuse, you just really didnât have time to waste on trying to flirt with a man. Busy life, it seemed.
Now currently in a very busy session, you watch the precise snap of Rikiâs isolations, the way his long limbs cut through the air with infuriating control. Bastard. How does he make it look so effortless?
Your body mirrors him instinctively nowâ years of obsession making your muscles anticipate his timing even as your mind screams to disrupt it.
Riki circles you during the mirroring sequence, gaze sharp on your footworkâ and damn it if you donât feel it like a physical touchâ analyzing, cataloging, judging. When your ankle wobbles slightly from exhaustion, his lip twitches.
The partner section begins a while after, his hands land on your waist for the lift, the contact burning. Your skin crawls with disgust, but your body betrays youâ muscles relaxing into the hold for a split second before you catch yourself.
âStop looking at me like that,â you whisper viciously, bodies pressed together.
âLike what? Like I wanna throw you out the window?â he mutters back, fingers flexing on your waist. âBecause thatâs exactly what Iâm thinking.â
âLiar, your hands are shaking.â
âTheyâre not shaking, theyâre restraining themselves from choking you.â
This is vile. You dig your fingers into his shoulder harder than necessary as he lifts, feeling the muscle tense under your grip and Riki adjusts his stance minutely, correcting for your weight without missing a beat. Itâs almost like he knows exactly how you balance, how you breathe through the strain.
You dismount with a shove and and he pushes back just enough on the next turn to throw your timing. Still absolutely no words are uttered, thereâs just a silent war in the mirrorsâ your reflection showing the way your eyes narrow when his hand lingers a fraction too long on your back during a spin.
His reflection shows the tight set of his jaw when your thigh brushes his during a close hold.
You break the moment by âaccidentallyâ stepping on his foot hard enough to make him curseâ and from there, insults get more creative and more personal.
âYouâre nothing without the company propping you up,â he spits out.
âSays the overrated dance prodigy who throws tantrums when he doesnât get his way,â you fire back. âHajime would be embarrassed.â
His eyes flash dangerously. âLeave him out of your fucking mouth.â
The air crackles, youâre both breathing hard, circling each other like fighters in a ring by then. You wouldnât be honest if you didnât mention that every lift brings unwanted awareness: the heat of his chest against yours, the strength in his arms that you catalog despite yourself, the way your bodies slot together technically perfect even as your minds revolt.
Your stomach twists with nausea and something worseâ betrayal by your own nerves firing at his proximity. You hate this, you hate how the body remembers his grip like muscle memory. You want him to be a shadow, something you never notice, someone who never crosses your mind, but lifeâs unfair it seems.
The next sequence brings you chest to chest. His hand slides up your back for the holdâ punishing. Your body reacts again, traitorous warmth spreading despite the nausea. You hate it. You hate him, you hate him you hate him. You hate yourself more for the split-second where your fingers curl into his shirt like they belong there.
âGet your hands off me properly,â you hiss.
âMake me.â
So you shove him and he shoves right backâ petty as always. For a moment it looks like you might actually come to blowsâ fists clenched, eyes locked in pure murderous intent. You notice the vein in his neck when heâs holding back from shoving you harderâ and itâs fascinating how loathing changes a personâs body.
A particularly difficult lift leaves you pressed right against him for balance. His breath fans hot across your collarbone and your heart hammers.
For three terrifying seconds your bodies move in perfect sync, like they understand each other better than you do. Disgust floods you immediately after and you shove away harder. Riki releases you like youâre poison, but not before you feel the slight tremor in his hands.
Betrayed by your own fucking bodies.
Around 2 am., you both call for a break, collapsing on opposite sides of the studio. Your muscles burn like thousand fires. When your phone buzzes, you pick it up, expecting a check-in from Hye-ri.
Itâs Jake instead.
Jake: Hey⌠someone sent me a tweet from your account. Look, I know weâve only hung out a couple times but I thought things were good. This doesnât seem like you but the screenshot looks real. Iâm pretty disappointed. Maybe we should just⌠not do lunch anytime soon. Sorry.
You click fast on the screenshot, heart hammering, and when you open it, your mouth drops. Itâs a tweet, a singular tweet⌠of yours???
âiâm gonna break Sim Jakeâs heart and he doesnât even know it đđâ
You stare at the screen, dumbfounded.
What. the. fuck?
The tweet is so obviously fakeâ ridiculous wording, wrong tone, obviously poorly edited. You almost start giggling maniacally, because it definitely lacks effort, but Jake, sweet gullible Jake, bought it.
âFucking hell,â you whisper, stuck between laughing and crying. Is he really that stupid to think youâd ever be that obvious?? You might need to step up your game.
You: canât you see itâs edited??? how stupid can you be Jake please đđ
Jake: no i took editing classes and thatâs not edited.
You stare at the message, blinking hard.
You: tell me youâre joking please.
Jake: no, im not. Take care y/n.
The chat goes quiet and you lower your phone slowly, the pieces clicking into place with icy clarity. That wording, that timing. The way it conveniently blew up your one decent thing right in the middle of this hell.
Nishimura fucking Riki.
Would anyone be surprised? Heâs the only one whoâs childish enough to attempt to ruin your relationships like that. Absolute lack of skills.
Rage explodes in your chest like a grenade, because who else would be this stupid? Who else would try to ruin every attempt at happiness you made?
You stand up so fast the room spins for a second, storming across the studio toward him. Heâs still sitting against the wall, looking annoyingly unbothered.
âWhat the fuck is wrong with you?â you snap, shoving your phone in his face.
Riki glances at the screen, then back up at you with zero remorse, and no intention of hiding. âDidnât even make anything up. Everyone knows you have a loud mouth⌠you wouldâve said it eventually.â
Your blood boils. âWhat the actual fuck is wrong with you? I actually liked him.â
âWell i donât really care about what you like,â he says flatly, pushing himself up to his full height. âSo get over yourself.â
He towers over you, but you donât back down an inch, tilting your chin up defiantly. âYouâre so self-centered itâs insane. This had nothing to do with you, Nishimura.â
âKeep talking, Y/n. I donât give a fuck.â Riki clenches his jaw. âIf you wanna be a homie hopper go do that somewhere else, far away from my friends.â
Oh. Now he crossed a hard line. The motherfucker is gonna have to pay.
The slap happens before you can think, your palm connects hard with his cheek, the sound cracking through the empty studio like a whip. Rikiâs head snaps to the side and for a second he stills, contemplating his options, his hair falling on his face.
His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek and he nods, trying to hold himself back.
Then he grabs your wrist in a vice grip, yanking you closer. It looks like you might actually stab each otherâ both of you burning with rage, chests heaving, bodies practically vibrating with it. His fingers are tight around your wrist, heat pouring off him and you glare up at him, breath ragged, pulse hammering in your ears.
âDonât put your hands on me.â Riki says, fingers leaving a white mark on your skin.
âWell next time you call me that, iâll make sure iâm putting my hands on your lifeless body instead.â you try to escape his grip, but he doesnât let go.
âWatch it,â he warns, voice low and dangerous, âbefore I actually lose it.â
âWouldnât you love to?â you tilt your head.
âOh I would.â
The air shiftsâ you feel it deep down pressing on your ribs as your words hang between you like a challenge
âThen hit me, come on.â Your voice drops, eyes locked on his. âHit me.â
The second you say that, something ignites in Rikiâs gazeâ itâs impossible to miss. And god if you donât love the way you destabilise him.
The grip on your wrist tightens, then loosens by fractions. Youâre breathing the same air, faces inches apart, and itâs so filthyâ so disgusting. His eyes drop for a split second before snapping back up.
But then Riki lets go of your wrist like it burns him, shoving you back a step as disgust twists across his face, but it doesnât quite hide the way his breath catches.
âGet out of my face,â he spits, turning away sharply.
Without hesitation, you turn on your heel and storm out of the main studio toward the attached bathroom, slamming the door behind you. The lock clicks and you twist the faucet on full blast before you start scrubbing your wrist like you can erase the ghost of his grip.
The waterâs ice-cold but you donât care. His touch is still there. Burning. Disgusting. You scrub harder, nails digging into your own skin, until your hands are raw and red.
Even then, your stomach twists. Part of you wants to throw up right into the sinkâ purge the memory of his body against yours, the way your wrist fit perfectly in his hand, the split second where rage had twisted into something darker and heavier.
But beneath the nausea sits an ache low in your gut, something warm and unwelcome that you refuse to name.
No. Absolutely not. Iâd rather die.
Eventually you step back into the break room because the companyâs made it clear: no leaving the premises. Two couches, a mini-fridge, and dim lights are the only things between you and the devil.
Rikiâs already sprawled on the far couch, one arm thrown over his eyes like he can pretend you donât existâ so you take the opposite one, kicking your shoes off and lying down with your back to him.
Neither of you naps. How could you?
The air is thick with the knowledge that the other person is right there, close enough to stab, close enough toâ
You stare at the wall, eyes wide open, hyper-aware of every shift on the other couch. Heâs probably plotting how to smother you with a pillowâ that would be the most logical thing. Despite the fatigue clawing at you, heavy and bone-deep after the all-night practice, your body stays wired.
Adrenaline and hatred make for terrible bedfellows.
After a long silence, Rikiâs voice cuts through the dark. âYou know, I thought youâd finally grow up someday and accept that what you did was wrong.â
You donât turn around. âI donât really care what you think. Iâm trying to rest, so shut up.â
âYouâre not.â A pause. âYouâre not gonna be able to sleep with me here.â
You huff, âAnd whose fault is that?â
âMines.â His tone is almost smug. âYouâre scared, right? Scared Iâll hurt you in your sleep. Well just know I wouldnât hesitate, not even for a second.â
You roll over to face him, propping yourself up on one elbow. âOh and what would you do? Ruin my relationships like a childish bastard? Or what?â
Riki sits up slowly, manspreading on the opposite couch with deliberate arrogance, he looks almost manlyâ a shame heâs such an asshole. His eyes lock onto yours across the dim room.
âOh come on, get over it. You really thought I was gonna let you go out with my friend? Youâre funny, Y/n. Really fucking funny.â
âNo, I didnât think so either,â you snap back, sitting up fully now. âBut now youâre just gonna have to pay. Im not gonna let a weak boy like you step on me like that.â
âFunny.â He leans back further, maintaining eye contact like itâs a challenge. âWhat are you gonna do then?â
In one smooth motion you pull out your phone, digging through your photos with angry swipes and you turn the screen toward him, a petty little smile tugging at your lips. Itâs a screenshot of a pretty compromising video of him to say the leastâŚ
âI got this from a telegram group chat a while back. Didnât think Iâd ever use it but oh well⌠You wouldnât want this to get out, right? I mean⌠everyone knows youâre a disrespectful cunt but this? Oh this is awful.â
You play the first few seconds just to taunt himâ it shows young Riki, stressed and exhausted, swearing at staff member during a meltdownâ the audio is grainy but clear enough. Deep down you know he was just a kid under crushing pressure, but right now youâre too greedy for revenge to care for ethics.
âYouâre doing all that for some dick?â He laughs, but itâs sharp and bitter. âDamn, I knew you were desperate but wowâŚâ
âDonât play with me. Iâm seconds away from handing that video to a hate account.â
âGoddamnit Y/n, if youâre so eager to get dicked down you couldâve asked anyone else that isnât my friend. And you sit here and act so surprised like you didnât have it coming.â
You scoff, youâre not bruisedâ far from it, but heâs touched a sensitive spot. Itâs not like you were ever planning to sleep with Jake, come on, but he doesnât have to know that.
âWell good job, Nishimura.â Your thumb hovers over the screen. âYou and your loud mouth have just earned yourselves another controversy.â
Riki jolts from the couch almost immediately, lunging toward you. You scramble back but heâs fasterâ in seconds youâre tangled aggressively on the couch as he tries to snatch the phone from your hand. You push, hit him in the chest, elbow him wherever you can reach but he desperately grabs for the device, long limbs pinning you down in the struggle.
âIâll kill you, Y/n. I swear to god if you posted that shitââ
âI thought you didnât care about it?â you taunt breathlessly, still fighting him. âYou were so confident two seconds ago?â
He grabs your wrist hard then, you push back with everything you have until somehow youâve got him pinned beneath you on the couch, breathing ragged.
âDo not. Touch me.â
Riki freezesâ perhaps heâs an asshole, but even he knows a hard no when he hears one. His hand drops away instantly. âDelete that video,â he warns, voice low and dangerous, âbefore I ruin your whole life.â
âYou already ruined my life by existing, you self-centered prick.â
âWatch me ruin it more. If you post that video, Y/nâŚâ
âOh god, youâre so dramatic.â You roll your eyes, feigning indifference. You turn off your phone with a deliberate click. âRelax, will you? Donât get your panties in a bunch.â
Riki stares at you for a long moment, chest still rising and falling sharply, before he pushes himself up and returns to his own couch. âYou better delete that shitâI swear if youââ
âOh shut that thing up.â
The moment fades after that, leaving only heavy silence, you both try to rest againâ you lie back down, pulling a thin blanket over yourself, but your eyes refuse to close. Youâre too aware of his presence, too on edge.
Heâs going to kidnap you in your sleep or something. Poison your water. Smother you. Anything.
But despite every instinct screaming to stay vigilant, exhaustion tugs at the edges of your mind. You breathe slowly, deliberately, trying to force your body to relax. And yet, against all reason, you become hyper-aware of his breathing across the room.
Itâs steady at first, then hitches slightly every few minutesâ like heâs replaying the fight, or the slap, or the way your bodies had tangled just minutes ago. You analyze it without meaning to, noting the rhythm, the occasional sharp inhale, the way it deepens when he shifts on the couch.
Somehow, despite everything, the sound of Nishimura Riki breathing becomes the only thing you hear in the dark.
You hate it. You listen anyway.
âOh girl, Nishimura Riki wants to fuck you. Hard.â Hye-ri says from her chair, legs crossed as a makeup artist dusts highlighter across her cheekbones.
Itâs been a few days since the whole weekend âŚthingâ itâs gone excessively slow but time pays off, or whatever people say when theyâre trying to sound wise. The locked studio torture finally ended, the performance notes improved just enough to satisfy the company, and now here you areâ back in the comfort of your groupâs dressing room at the company building, getting dolled up for tonightâs award show.
Your members are scattered around the mirrors in various states of glam, chatting and laughing like the weekend from hell never happened.
At least on the surface.
You nearly choke on your coffee. âHye-ri, what the actual fuck?â
She grins at you through the mirror, completely unbothered, while the makeup artist dabs at the corner of her eye. âI mean, you gotta admit he looks like he wants to eat you up.â
âYouâre so gross, I donât even know why weâre friendsâŚâ you mutter, tilting your head so your own artist can blend the eyeshadow.
Even then, the memory of that charged weekendâhis grip on your wrist, the way your bodies tangled on the couch, the unwanted ache that still lingersâmakes heat crawl up your neck.
Disgusting.
Hye-ri laughs, âCause weâre both freaked out, duh⌠but the problem with you is that you draw the line at enemies. Like come on, be young and freeâ whatâs so wrong about a little bit of hate sex?â
Oh, so now sheâs resorted to saying these freaky things in front of the staff? Oh my.
âHye-ri what the fuck??â You whip your head toward her, much to your makeup artistâs annoyance. She gently guides your face back forward with a soft sigh.
âJust face it, Y/n,â Hye-ri continues, waving a hand dramatically. âThat man wants you. Bad. But heâs just too⌠angry all the time. A shame.â
âNo he doesnât. Stop making stuff up.â You glare at her reflection. âAnd stop talking about him. Iâm trying to focus.â
âYeah yeah youâre avoiding the topic as always, but youâre rightâ focus on not breaking your legs with those high heels. I swear to god, this company is evil.â She turns toward the makeup artists with a sweet smile. âNo offense, youâre a sweetheart.â
âNone taken,â the artist replies with a chuckle, carefully applying gloss to your lips. âI know they push you guys a lot. God, I wouldnât even know how to walk in these heels, Y/n.â
âI donât even know how I do it eitherâŚâ you sigh, staring at the deadly stilettos waiting by your chair. âIâm gonna break my legs one day.â
A while after, once the final touches are done, you slip into the high heels. In one smooth motion you stand, testing your balanceâ strangely enough, the confidence hits almost immediately; the heels make your legs look endless, powerful, like you could conquer the entire red carpet and still have energy left to step on someoneâs neck.
Specifically a certain tall assholeâs.
You pull out your phone, snap a quick mirror picâlegs for days, sleek black dress hugging every curve, hair and makeup sharp enough to cut glassâ and post it on Twitter with a caption that makes you smirk: âI step on mean boys for a living.â
A bit risky, sure. But you like the thrill of posting something just controversial enough to make people talk.
You put your phone down and turn toward the girls. âSelfie time. We look too good not to.â
Hye-ri and the other girls crowd in happily, striking poses in the mirror; you snap a few group shotsâ arms around each other, and save it for the staff to post on the group account later.
Eventually, you all gather your things and head out; you strut toward the waiting cars in formation, heels clicking against the floor. Inside the vehicleâ youâre chatting with Sera about tonightâs award showâ the KGMAsâleaning forward despite the seatbelt as the city lights streak past the tinted windows.
âIâm telling you, if we dont take anything home tonight Iâm actually gonna cry. Not on camera, obviously, but later? Full breakdown. Weâve been killing it this year.â
Sera nods, adjusting the strap of her dress. âSame. You especially. That solo stage last month? Insane. They better recognize it.â
With that, your phone buzzes in your lapâ you glance down and nearly laugh out loud.
@nriki.mura liked your tweet.
The notification glows mockingly for half a second before vanishing.
Oh my god. Caught him lacking.
You can practically picture itâ his thumb slipping, the immediate panic, the frantic un-like. The mental image of Nishimura Riki, Mr. Untouchable himself, accidentally simping over a picture of you is almost too good.
Amused, you open your messages without hesitation.
You: You know i saw you like my tweet right?
Mina, ever the nosy one, leans over your shoulder almost automatically. âYouâre talking to Nishimura?â
âYeah,â you say, chuckling. âHe accidentally liked my tweet.â
Hye-ri, from the seat across, perks up immediately. âSee??? I was right. He does wanna fuck you.â
âOh drop it, Hye-ri,â you laugh, shaking your head even as heat creeps up your neck.
Riki texts back almost immediately.
Riki: wtf are you talking about.
You: you just liked my tweet then deleted it, pathetic đ
Riki: shut your mouth. I thought it was someone else for a second.
You: so youâd like the pic if it wasnât me?
Riki: Everything you do is ugly because you make it ugly. Youâre repulsive, so yeah iâd like if it wasnât you.
You: Yeah i bet. Even my dancingâs ugly right? Must be why youâre always analyzing it.
Riki: what are you even talking about. Get a grip.
You: I think deep down youâre very jealous of me.
See, thatâs a personal conviction youâve had for yearsâ Riki hides behind all that hatred but thereâs a deep respect there. Something heâs never been able to accept but youâll shove it in his face ever so often.
Riki: Youre funny.
You: yeah yeah, it was envy all along wasnât it?
Riki: Shutup y/n
You: Shhh, answer me. You want to be me, right?
You: actually donât answer, i already know the answer.
You drop your phone in your lap with a satisfied smirk as the van slows to a stop at the venue. Got him. Hye-ri glances at you, eyebrow raised. âThat whole exchange looked tense as hell. You good?â
âPeachy,â you reply, stepping out carefully.
The heels are already murdering your feet, but you make it look effortless because thatâs the job. Paparazzi flashes explode around you as you wave, smile, bow politely toward the chanting fans, all while your mind replays the text thread.
Pathetic, indeed.
Inside, the atmosphere buzzesâ you spot Enhypen across the hallway and Jake nods awkwardly in your direction, the unresolved drama still hanging between you like an awkward third wheel.
You have to admit you didnât really try to fix things or clarify thingsâ if a man jumps to conclusions like this? Heâs not worth the hassle.
Riki, standing beside him, glares with professional precisionâ polite smile for the cameras, murder in his eyes when they flick toward you. You return the energy with a sweet wave.
Eat shit, giraffe.
A little while later youâre called on stage with the girls for a quick pre-award segment. You sit gracefully on the tall stool, bare legs crossed in front of you, the dress riding up just enough to show the deadly heels. You tap your foot distractingly as you chat with the MC, answering questions about your groupâs comeback with charm.
âThereâs so many things happening for you guys this year! A string of collaborations, new album coming soon, are you excited?â The MC asks you.
âWeâre super excited, and weâre sure the fans are gonna love it, weâve been working hard on it. We canât wait !â you answer with a gentle smile, looking out at the audience.
All the while, from his seat in the venue, Rikiâs forced by the idol image to look at the stage. Heâd rather do anything else, but itâd make him look really bad if he didnât pay attentionâ unnecessary drama. So he looks, half-listens and nods, almost like he gives one too many fucks. His eyes trace the backdrop, the stage floor, anything reallyâ to not have to look at you.
But after a while, heâs run out of things to observe, so he lets his eyes drop to your hands, the ones clasping the mic like itâs a hammer. You look graceful, a complete opposite of the girl he knows privatelyâ you smile and nod gently, speaking with a calm and polite tone.
No curse words, no filthy mouth.
Then Rikiâs attention shifts down, to where your heels are tapping on the floor, rather distractingly. Your legs are classily crossed in front of you, slightly extended, creating a vision of horror in his mind, theyâre smooth, reflecting the lights of the venueâ and the heelsâ theyâre evil. High, black with a red sole, they look absolutely illegal; not to him though, he doesnât really care.
But his eyes trail down your ankles, to the way your foot bends, taps and goes back up again. Itâs hypnotic, better than having to stare at your face at least. Then your legs uncross, stretch, and Rikiâs breath catches for a split secondâ he straightens in his seat, pinching his thigh through his slacks, and forces his gaze upwards.
Mistake, big one. Because the second he does, heâs looking at your thighs, right where the hem of your dress hikes up. And soon enoughâ he finds himself unable to tear his eyes away, captivated by the way they lead like a path all the way down to your footwear. Ironic, right?
He keeps telling himself itâs anatomy, bone. Muscle. Fabric. Leather. Anything.
But the first mistake was looking, the second was realizing he wanted to look again.
He slips out during the commercial break almost automatically, heading straight for the bathroom, the door clicks shut behind him and he braces against the sink, stomach churning.
Riki throws up, harsh and sudden, the taste of bile burning his throat. Disgusting. Heâs disgusted by the way his body reactsâ knows itâs excessive, knows itâs pathetic, but he canât help it. He needs to throw up in hopes of getting your out of his body, his system.
He couldnât stop looking at your stupid legs tonight. Ever since that picture you posted.
Heels are something that links to youâ youâve always worn a lot of heelsâand he canât deny that your legs do look aesthetically pleasing in them.
But he despises that he feels this way.
The bathroom mirror reflects someone he doesnât recognizeâ a man repulsed not by what heâs seen, but by what heâs felt. Itâs to wonder if revulsion and desire are closer relatives than anyone likes to admit.
Riki splashes water on his face, gripping the edges of the sink until his knuckles turn white. Against his better judgment, his mind replays the image: the endless line of your legs, the sharp heel, the way you tapped your foot almost absentmindedly while talking. Clinical, he tells himself. Just observation. Professional obsession. Nothing. more.
And yet, even now, the image lingers.
Heeseung finds him a few minutes later when he returns to the seats. âYou okay, man?â
âYeah,â Riki mutters, forcing a neutral expression. âIâm fine.â
He sits back down, but the thoughts donât stop. He keeps wondering what it means to feel like this about a part of your body. The hatred is still there, burning strongâ but somehow, despite everything, so is something else he refuses to name.
Irony has caught you in its nettles once again. A few days after the award show, you trip on the stairs at the company building, miss a step like a clumsy idiot, and sprain your ankle badly enough that the world tilts sideways. The pain shoots up your leg like fire, sharp and unforgiving. Of course. Because the universe clearly isnât done laughing at you yet.
Physical therapy becomes your new hell. You canât come to rehearsals anymore, which means blessed silence from Nishimura Riki for a little whileâ instead of dealing with his bullshit, you spend the days propped up on your dorm couch, ankle elevated, ice packs rotating, and your nose buried in self-help books.
Atomic Habits. The Body Keeps the Score.
Anything to understand why your brain keeps betraying you with unwanted thoughts about that assholeâ his grip, his breathing in the dark break room, the charged way he looked at you after the slap.
Maybe youâre the one who needs fixing, you think bitterly, flipping another page. The books talk about trauma bonding and nervous system regulation, but none of them have a chapter titled âWhat to do when your mortal enemy makes your stomach ache in ways you refuse to name.â
Eventually the company, with its infinite lack of mercy, decides youâre âhabilitated enough.â They shove you into another industry eventâ heels and all.
Fans lose their minds, flooding social media with concerned threads: âY/nâs ankle is clearly injured, why is she in stilettos again???â
âProtect her at all costs!!â
âHybe is evil, make it make sense.â
You see the posts but say nothing. Complaining would get you labeled irresponsible or difficultâ so you smile through the pain, walk like everythingâs fine, and silently curse the entire system. One day Iâll burn it all down. Preferably while wearing flats.
A couple of hours after that specific event, back in the dorm with your ankle throbbing, your phone lights up.
Riki: is the injury gonna impact our rehearsals
You roll your eyes so hard it hurts.
You: donât worry youâll get your 5 minutes of fame eventually just let me fucking heal my leg first
Riki: iâm just asking goddamn
You: yes it is, i canât dance for a while
Riki: ok well iâll talk to the choreographer to change the pairs
You: ok
Thereâs a pause before he sends another message.
Riki: did you leave your charger in the dance studio ?
You: no i didnt ?
Riki: oh okay
You: why the fuck are you even talking to me istg itâs all you do these days
Riki: iâm not iâm just asking stuff about work
You: well you know i never bring my charger
Riki: no i donât
You: yes you do asshole
Riki: ok and whatâs your point?
You: my point is stop talking to me
Riki: no
You: are you trying to make me mad?
Riki: no, is your leg okay?
You: and why do you care
Riki: i donât. iâm asking if itâs gonna take long to heal because im trying to finish the dance. and why were you even in heels today, are you stupid?
You: cause company told me to.
Riki: and why didnât you defend yourself
You: cause i canât hello??
Riki: yes you can, youâre such a pussy sometimes, your legsâ fucked up and they got you walking in heels, and somehow thatâs fine with you. Itâs stupid.
You: youâre stupid
Riki: you need to stop wearing heels
In response, you snap a quick photo of the heels youâre still wearingâ bare legs in the frame, nothing crazy, just skin and straps and the faint bruise blooming around your ankle. You caption it simply: âhow about no?â
Riki: why are you sending me this??? wtf y/n delete that shit
You: theyâre just legs chill. I know you think iâm disgusting and all but these are just motherfucking legs.
Riki: itâs not that, just delete it. itâs weird
You: nah, deal with it, throw up for all i care
Jokes on you, he did the other day. And because you love pissing him off more than is probably healthy, you send another photo. This one riskier not necessarily explicit thoughâ leg extended, heel dangling from your feet, the angle deliberately provocative.
You: there u go, one more so you can really really throw up
He takes a bit to answer.
Riki: stop sending me that shit
You: aw, is nishimura scared of throwing up or something?
Riki: i donât even want to. iâm gonna block you
You: donât even want to what?
Riki: throw up
At the same moment in Rikiâs dorm roomâ itâs quiet except for the hum of the airco. He was sprawled on his bed, phone in hand when the first picture came through. With that, something in his stomach flipped hardâ he told himself it was disgust. Pure, simple disgust.
But his body betrayed him completely.
Right now? The second photo hits harder. Your bare legs, the sharp line of the heel, the way it dangles teasingly from your foot makes Rikiâs mouth open, he throws the phone on the bed like its burned him, and he smacks his palms on his face, tugging at the roots of his own hair. He loathes itâ loathes how quickly he is to replay it in his head, to try and remember every detail because he canât be caught dead looking back at it.
Itâs just goddamn legs. Goddamn heels.
So why is blood rushing south almost immediately? Maybe because irony is the biggest factor in this storyâ heâs hard within seconds. Riki doesnât even know why. Heâs not a teenager anymore, he canât just get boners from stupid photos like thatâ especially not from someone he despises.
Horror slams into him like a truck. What the fuck is wrong with him? He detests it. Detests you. Detests the way his cock twitches at the sight of your stupid legs in those stupid heels.
Riki locks his bedroom door without thinking, breathing ragged. He blames it on the stress, perks of being mister worldwide famous, and grabs his phone to delete the pictureâ screw that, the whole chat.
He tries to look away. He really does. But against his better judgment, his eyes keep drifting backâ and images burn into his retinas.
See, heels have always been your thing â long before this, you wore them constantly, strutting around like you owned every room.
Now? Theyâre weaponized against him.
Riki opens the chat again, scrolling through the two photos guiltily. Over and over. His hand moves almost absentmindedly to palm himself through his sweatpants, breath hitching.
This isnât about you. Itâs the heels. Just the heels.
He then pulls up pictures of other models in heels, random Instagram posts, anything to convince himself itâs not you. Riki stares at these womenâs legs, analyzing their footwear like an expert.
But it doesnât work.
His mind betrays him completely. The images shiftâ his brain being the most traitorous creature in the whole world, shows him your heels digging into his back, your legs wrapped around him, plays the sharp click of stilettos against the practice room floor while he fucks you senseless-
âFuck⌠you,â he mutters through gritted teeth.
In seconds heâs up and running to the bathroom to throw up for the nth time this month.
Riki relieves himself, hating you more than ever. Hating himself even worse.
The company building feels eerily quiet on your break day as you hobble through the familiar halls with your sprained ankle still wrapped and aching, clutching a thin folder of paperwork you came to retrieve. The quick meeting with the exec goes smoothly enoughâ some signatures on scheduling adjustments, a few polite nods about âtaking it easy,â and the usual nonsense about image management. Nothing you havenât heard a hundred times before.
Youâre almost out the side entrance, already dreaming of crashing on your dorm couch with takeout and zero responsibilities, when you bump straight into Jake.
Literally.
Your good foot catches on the edge of the hallway carpet and you stumbleâ Jakeâs hands shoot out instinctively, steadying you by the elbows before you face-plant. For a second, both of you freeze.
âShitâ sorry,â you mutter, stepping back carefully. Your ankle throbs in protest.
Jakeâs eyes drop almost automatically to your injured leg, the careful way you favor it. âHey⌠you okay?â His voice stays soft, concerned, but the awkwardness between you thickens the air like smoke.
You havenât spoken properly since the fake tweet disaster, not a single text, not a single clarification. You canât say it wasnât convenient, youâd hate to admit you find no interest in explaining yourself to Jake.
âYeah. Just⌠clumsy,â you say, forcing a half-smile. âWhat are you⌠erm, doing here on a break day?â
âPicking up some lyric sheets for next week.â He rubs the back of his neck, glancing around the empty hallway. After a pause, he adds quietly, âWeâve⌠um, never really talked about what happened. With the tweet and all.â
You cross your arms, leaning against the wall to take pressure off your ankle. Here we go. âYeah. About that, you didnât even let me explain, it was Riki.â
Jake blinks, tilting his head like you spoke another language. âWhat?â
âIt was Riki,â you repeat, irritation already bubbling. âThe whole thing was fake, he made it up to fuck with me.â
Jake stays silent for a long moment, processing. Then, almost gently âlike he explains something to a childâhe says, âWell⌠I think we gotta talk about this at some point, Y/n.â
âAbout what?â
âAbout your obsession with him.â
You stare at him, disbelief shooting through you âExcuse me?â
He canât be serious right now.
âY/n, seriously.â Jakeâs voice stays calm, patient, which only pisses you off more. âWhy would you even come to the conclusion that heâs the one who invented some kind of grand schemeâŚâ
âBecause he told me, for fuckâs sake.â
âI donât know⌠why would he even do that?â Jake sighs, rubbing his temple. âAnd if you hate him that much, whyâs he all you ever talk about then?â
And there you thought Jake was sweet, turns out heâs just clueless.
âAre you seriously doing this right now?â you scoff.
Right because when has it ever been his business?
âYeah.â He meets your eyes steadily. âItâs honestly⌠obvious how Rikiâs occupying all your emotional life. You were too caught up in your hatred that you didnât even notice me, Iâm pretty sure.â
âUm? Yes I did. I went out with you, didnât I?â You laugh, sharp and humorless. âI thought youâd understand that with everything Rikiâs done to me, itâs obvious Iâm gonna hate him.â
It feels like youâre being scolded for some reason, and you donât like that. Not one bit.
âYouâre obviously hurt and you feel things deeply,â Jake continues, still in that gentle, patronizing tone. âBut you gotta wake up and realize how fucked up it all is.â
You feel irritated as fuck, heâs talking to you like youâre a two year old, spelling out basic emotional logic as if you havenât lived it for years.
The day was going smoothly and now some totally out of line weirdo is making it hard for you to be patient.
âLike, if I ask about your day, you answer in three words,â Jake continues, almost absentmindedly gesturing with his hands. âBut if someone mentions him, you suddenly have a whole thesis. Heâs said awful things to you and so have you. I just donât get why you still bother.â
âWell Iâm sorry that bothers you, Jakey,â you reply, voice dripping with sarcasm. You tap his shoulder lightly, ironic and vain. âHave a great day, yeah?â
You turn to leave, but Jakeâs words keep echoing as you limp down the hallway. He speaks facts, deep down, you know itâ come on youâre not that dumb; but what you are though, is too proud to admit out loud.
Even after all this, part of you feels attracted to the violence. Used to it. Addicted, maybe. The constant flight mode becomes your normalâ at least it feels more alive than any soft conversation with Jake ever could.
Hatred feels familiar, secure in its own twisted way. It demands nothing soft from you, no vulnerability. Thatâs just the way things are.
Some people like their food sweet, others donât like it at allâ and prefer eating nails.
Rikiâs a master at pretending nothingâs bothering himâ he wears indifference like second skinâ untouchable, the golden dancer who smiles for cameras and carries the weight of millions without flinching.
He knows somethingâs essentially missing inside of him, knows heâs looking for something thatâs not here, and that will never be. But he constantly tones that part of him down.
Thatâs why, tonight, in this high-end hotel suite with its dim lights and silk sheets, he tries to slip into that role again.
The girl beneath him is pretty, sweet, all soft curves and gentle laughs, she kisses him back eagerly, fingers threading through his hair as he presses her into the mattress. Her skin is soft, her dimples press against his cheeks when she kissesâ and for a while it works.
His hands roam her body, lips trailing down her neck until she sighs his name like a prayer; and he tells himself this is what he wants. He deepens the kiss, hips rolling against hers, heat building in a way that should feel right.
But something shifts.
With that, sudden unease crawls up his spine like ice water, his stomach twists and the air feels wrong. Riki tries to push past it, kissing her harder, hands gripping her waist almost automatically. Focus. Sheâs pretty. Sheâs lovely even. Sheâs notâ
It just doesnât work.
He pulls away after a long silence, considers telling her the usual excuse of âitâs not you, itâs meâ, but when he opens his eyes it is not her face he sees.
Itâs your sharp eyes glaring up at him. Your mouth twisted in that familiar sneer, your hands gripping his forearms.
Riki jumps back like heâs been burned, heart slamming against his ribs. What the fuck.
Heâs definitely going crazy, he concludes, the room spinning slightly as panic claws at his throat.
âIâ sorry,â he mutters, voice hoarse. He stands up in one smooth motion, running a hand through his messy hair. âI need a minute.â
The girl sits up, confusion flickering across her pretty features, she looks hurt. âRiki⌠are you okay?â
He forces a soft smile, the one he saves for people who deserve his leniency, sweet. âYeah. Iâm sorry. Got a lot on my mind tonight. Work stuff. I didnât mean to make you feel like Iâm not into this.â
She watches him carefully as he walks to the mini-fridge and grabs a bottle of whiskey. He twists the cap off and takes a long swig, the burn grounding him for half a second.
âItâs fine,â she says quietly, already reaching for her clothes. âI can go if you want.â
Riki feels a pang of guilt. Sheâs sweet, too sweet for a walking shit-show like him. âNo, you donât have to⌠Iâm really sorry. Youâre great. This is on me.â
She dresses slowly, offering him a small, understanding smile. âItâs okay. Really. Take care of yourself, yeah?â
He nods, watching her leave with gentle eyes, the door clicks shut behind her and the silence rushes in like a wave. Riki collapses back onto the bed, bottle in hand, he stares at it for a second like heâs gonna start confessing his sins to it, then he drinks.
He drinks. And drinks. And drinks some more until the edges of the room blur and his thoughts turn hazy.
Tipsy now, he turns on the Tv for noise, he hates the silence, he needs something to focus on. A commercial flashes across the screenâ some luxury brand, a modelâs legs strutting in high heels. The camera zooms in and Riki instantly buries his face in the covers with a groan.
Eventually, when heâs proper drunk and the world is tilting pleasantly, he decides itâs enough, his stomach hurts.
His phone feels heavy in his hand as he tries to text Heeseungâ something incoherent about needing to talk or needing someone to pick him up.
Riki recoils, embarrassed even through the alcohol haze.
He doesnât need any fucking help.
Or does he? Maybe he does need therapyâ
But his thumb slips as he tries to figure that out, and by some force of natureâ he ends up calling the very ghost that haunts him instead.
You pick up after a few rings, voice dry and annoyed. âWhy the fuck are you calling me?â
Riki tries to click the âhangup buttonâ but his fingers are shaking with adrenaline.
Screw that, on second thought, he doesnât really try to hang up all that hardâŚ
He laughs instead , low and miserable, rolling onto his back until the ceiling spins. âAre you so mad at me, Y/n?â
You scoff on the other end, âWhen am I not? Anyway let me repeat myselfâ why did you call me?â
âYeah but youâre different mad, I shouldâve knownâŚâ His words slur together incoherently as he closes his eyes, the room still turning.
âHuh?â your thoughts are a mess of âwhatthefuckishesayingâ
âYou donât even fight with me anymore.â Rikiâs voice comes out as a whisper, almost like he knows heâs stepping in a dangerous zone.
He hears you scoff on the other line, all superior and bitchyâ and he has to fight not to laugh in your face, because honestly with that level of alcohol in his blood, it would sound much more like a happy giggle than anything else. He doesnât want that now, does he?
âAre you⌠drunk?â you suddenly seem to come to your senses.
âYeahâŚâ He nods stupidly at the ceiling. âBut you didnât insult me today.â
It sort of reminds Riki of when he was a kidâ staying underwater in his parentsâ swimming pool until there was not an ounce of air left in his lungs. He would push himself deeper, lungs burning, vision spotting, just to see how long he could last before breaking the surface gasping.
That same reckless thrill sits in his chest now, however unrelatedâ talking to you while drunk feels like holding his breath too long. Dangerous. Addictive.
He knows he should come up for air, but he stays under, waiting for the moment you push him harder.
âAre you a masochist or something? You want me out of your life but here you are basically begging me to insult you.â you huff on the other end.
âIâm not. I kept waiting.â he shakes his head like you can see him.
âWaiting for what, you weirdo?â
Rikiâs waiting for the moment youâre finally going to be done with his bullshit and hang upâ because he couldnât possibly bring himself to be the one to do itâ blame it on the whiskey.
âFor you to start a fight.â he answers solemnly.
âOh god, youâre so weird. Youâre drunk, youâre not even making any sense⌠just hang up and go fuck yourself.â
âDonât ignore me. Donât ignore what I said.â Rikiâs voice goes lower, a little firmer maybe.
âI didnât even see you today, what the fuck are you even talking about?â he can hear you anxiously slap your thigh in annoyance.
âI donât like it when you ignore me. You piss me off, I piss you off andââ
âStop conjugating verbs, Nishimura. I donât have time for your bullshit.â you cut him off, proper angry.
âYou know, normal people donât live like this.â He rolls over clumsily, nearly dropping the phone; heâs not even making any sense, just casually assembling random thoughts that have been in his head and mashing them together in hopes youâll understand his point.
âGood job genius, thanks for pointing that out. Now call Heeseung or Jay, Iâm gonna block you. Or donât call anyone, I donât give a fuck if you choke in your sleep or something.â
Thatâs it, thatâs the moment youâre finally done with his bullshit and youâre about to hang up and heâs⌠confused?
âDonât block me Y/n waitââ Riki groans, not even realising how pitiful he sounds.
âLiterally what the fuck is wrong with you.â you snap. âWhy are you being like this, you sound so pathetic.â
After a beat, his mind drifts to different topics heâd like to address, but the only thing he can think of is that little stunt you pulled. âThe post you made. Was it about me?â he asks, naively.
You almost laugh, incredulous and also very much embarrassed for him, âWhat are you even talking about?â
âThe one with the heels.â
âNo it wasnât.â you say immediately, hating that he thought it was about him (although it clearly was).
âIt waaaas,â he sing-songs, burying his face in his pillow. Heâs half trying to hide how affected he was, and half trying to tease you.
âYouâre so self-centered itâs insane, it wasnât even about you.â you chuckle mockingly, âGod Nishimura youâre being my little bitch right now, you know that?â
âStop calling me that. Iâm⌠mean to you. So you step on mean boys. So it was about me,â Riki goes on, persuaded.
âWell do you want me to step on you or something? Cause it sounds like youâre begging for it.â
Thatâs it. A couple wordsâ he doesnât even count how manyâ and heâs sent back to the state he was in a couple days back.
Itâs all so pathetic, and heâs drunk out of his mind, but at the same time itâs you. Itâs your fault, youâre doing this to him, youâre making his blood spike like a pervert, youâre dissecting him unknowingly, revealing things he didnât even know about himself.
Notwithstanding, itâs impossible that it could be you, it has to be something else.
Itâs like teenagers when they suddenly discover they have a penis and they wanna jump everything and anything; thatâs probably whatâs happening. Heâs discovered he may or may not have a tendency to⌠enjoy women wearing heels, and heâs totally projecting.
âFuck.â Riki throws his head back, palming his forehead. âDonât say that.â
But his tone of voice only pumps you meaner, âGet off my phone then if youâre not happy. Whatâs your problem anyway? Canât handle a little bit of alcohol? Youâre a pussy.â
âSee? I like you better when youâre like this. Mean.â he breathes out.
âWell get help.â
âI know I should.â
âYeah you should. Now bye, Iâm blocking you.â You hang up without a second thought and itâs over just as fast as it started.
Riki stares at the ceiling, phone still pressed to his ear even after the line goes dead. What the fuck are you doing with his head?
Eventually he grabs his phone again, thumbs clumsy as he opens his notes appâ his writing is messy, drunk letters stumbling across the screen.
She blocks peple (people) when it starts to get a little bit intse (intense).
He stares at the words for a long time, the screen blurring. Even drunk, even miserable, he cannot stop cataloging you. Cannot stop thinking about you. And cannot stop adding to the list of things heâs noticed about you.
The hatred burns hotter though. Always has.
Kwn is an amazing artist you know? Especially in that one video clip where she kisses Kehlani near the car and allâ thatâs just a fact. You love her tracks, her voice, everything. But right now? You beyond hate her.
The past weekâs been a blur of physical therapy, awkward silences, and the lingering ghost of Rikiâs drunk phone call. He never mentioned it afterward and neither did you; it just sits between you like an unexploded grenadeâ ignored, but always there. A moment of vulnerability that echoes with a lot of âwhat ifsâ.
What if he was under the influence all the time? Would he be softer, funnier with his words? More honest?
Your ankleâs better now, enough for light practice, but the company wastes no time dragging you back into the studio. No mercy. No rest. Just endless work.
Thatâs why now, you stand in the practice room, mirrors reflecting your slightly stiff posture, the choreographer flipping through self-tapes on his tablet with a deep frown. Riki leans against the wall a few feet away, fiddling with the strings of his sweatpants between his spread legs, looking as unbothered as ever.
The choreographer sighs heavily. âIt looks stiff. The companyâs not gonna like this at all.â He rubs his temples. âCome on Y/n, youâre usually excellent. Iâve worked with you for years and Iâve never seen you so out of it.â He turns to Riki. âAnd you, Rikiâ whatâs going on?â
Whatâs going on, is that a leech is sucking out every ounce of talent out of you and leaving a distracted woman hollowed out by rage.
Thatâd be the appropriate answer but instead you say force a neutral expression. âItâs just stress.â and you make the mistake of adding, âItâs the song. Itâs probably too fast.â
The choreographer looks at his tablet for a beat, thumb hovering over it, then nods slowly. âWell, how about we try something else, yeah? This choreoâs pretty simple. Get a good view, learn it, and I want you guys to prepare it for the end of the evening. Iâll come back when youâre done. Just work through it. This oneâs slower and itâll get you in the right headspace.â
He hands you the tablet but Riki snatches it from your hands almost immediatelyâ ever the childish one. Heâs a little bit too confident for someone who called you begging you for insultsâŚ
You doubt he even remembers it, but you want to rub it in his face. Insteadâ because workspace doesnât allow itâ you stay professional, snatching it right back and pressing play.
The opening notes fill the room. âTouch Myselfâ by Kwn. You let it play for a bit, the rnb beat mellow and nice but when she starts singing itâs a whole different story.
See, the thing is, the lyrics are extremely explicit, pornographic arguablyâ or maybe youâre just being dramatic but thatâs what being too close to Nishimura Riki does to one.
You glance up at the choreographer, wondering if he even speaks enough English to understand âI touch myself just thinking about you.â
Probably not.
Rikiâs English is trash, but he knows that much and you see it in the way his jaw tighten.
The other man leaves with a casual wave, dismissing your obvious discomfort and the door clicks shut behind him.
You hate Kwn and her stupid song.
You stand up immediately, crossing your arms, âIâm not doing that.â
âErm, yes you are,â Riki says flatly, like heâs talking to a toddler.
âFuck no.â
At that, he rubs his temple, letting out a long exhale.
âThey should terminate your contract. Canât even get over yourself for the sake of your job...â he lets out a small huff, looking down at you like youâre the most ridiculous thing heâs ever seen.
âHave you seen the choreo? Are you really agreeing to this?â you tilt your chin towards the tablet. âThat shit is vile. Iâm not doing that.â
âWell itâs not like we have a choice. Trust me Iâd rather be eating nails right now, Y/n. So get over yourself and just learn the goddamn thing.â he snaps.
You sit back down with a huff and get a good look at the choreo on the tablet. Itâs heavily sensualânothing insane certainly, but paired with the nature of the lyrics⌠damn. Slow body rolls, close proximity, lingering touches, prolonged eye contact. The kind of performance that sells sex and tensionâ definitely not something youâd like to be doing with that smug prick. But either way you need to get over yourself, itâs not like you have a choiceâŚ
So after a while of sitting there, hearing his annoying breathing, you finally get the hang of it, itâs not really complicated, just an easy routine; the complicated part is the tension you need to bring to it, something you donât have. Or rather, not in the adequate form.
You stand up and move to the center with him, the mirrors reflecting you both as you start running it. You rehearse a few steps, tablet in hand, trying to figure out the footwork while he watches through the reflection.
âYour other foot, dumbass.â he goes, pointing at your left foot.
You listen, because unfortunately, he is rightâ it was the left foot; and you move along, following the movements of his body in the glass.
The tension simmers immediatelyâ albeit it not being the required one, itâs still tension right? Every brush of his hand on your waist feels deliberate, every step brings you closer and the lyrics pulse through the speakers like a taunt.
Every now and then, you deliberately sabotage the whole thing, pushing a little on the left until he fumbles it, stepping on his foot while maintaining a neutral stance.
The thing is, and youâve admitted itâ you donât just hate Riki. You need him to hate you back. Itâs that or youâd rather die.
So you push and push, until his pupils drown in anger and heâs seconds away from pinning you to the nearest wallâ devoid of any good intentions.
During the chorus is the part when you have to look at each other the most, itâs prolonged eye contact.
You unconsciously lipsync the words âI touch myself just thinking about youâ as you focus on the dance and miss a count, distracted by the little something in his eyes.
Youâre stupid.
Riki looks right back, eyes dropping your lips as you mouth those filthy wordsâ and he messes up his part a little bit.
âStop fucking looking at me. Just dance,â he says defensively, voice low.
âAm I supposed to just look at the goddamn ceiling?â you spit back, rolling your eyes.
Riki stops dancing all of a sudden, gets closer, towering over you. âWell I donât care. Just donât look at me.â
You follow, the song still playing but youâre both unmoving, âWhy does that bother you so much?â
âIt doesnât. Youâre just annoying.â His dyed blond hair falls on his forehead, sweaty and so awfully disgustingly delicious you want to die.
Wait what?
âIt clearly does if youâre bringing it up.â you distract yourself with counter attacks, itâs easier this way.
âJust stop arguing and listen to me before Iââ
âBefore you what? Huh?â You get closer, menacing even though hes taller.
He snickers, looking down at you like youâre a crumb under his shoe. âWho do you even think you are, acting like that? You know itâd take me two seconds to make you trip and faceplant right?â
Heâs so infuriatingly mocking it sends a chill down your spine, itâs not even the words, itâs the tone itselfâ like he could push you right now and feel nothing but contempt.
Thatâs the way things have always been, so why does it feel so confusing?
âStop talking to me like that.â you glare at him, titling your chin like you can somehow surpass him in height.
âYeah? What are you gonna do?â heâs so smug it drips with it.
âI swear, Nishimura, Iâll punch you right now.â
Riki looks down at you, a small cruel smirk tugging at at the corner of his mouth, âGo ahead, brat. All yours. Hit me.â
The words shouldnât sound like this, they shouldnât sound so dirty. But itâs like lately, all he says has a subtle undertone to itâ and why is his voice so goddamn low and velvety?
âWell thanks for the consent, motherfucker.â You push him back hard so he canât crowd you. âNow get back.â
He grabs your wrist in turn, pushing you close to him menacingly. âI said hit me, not push me. Are you scared of me or something?â
You chuckle, defiant. âScared? Oh give me a break.â
Riki grabs your fist; youâre surprised he isnât even flinching at the contact. He tightens your fingers deliberately until youâre ready for a punch, and then holds it over his own cheek.
âCome on. Do it.â
His fingers burn around yours. Heâs dying for it, he needs the fight, needs the violence. He craves the collisionâ the crack of bone, the bloom of pain, the certainty that comes with a hit landed cleanly. Anger is familiar territoryâ violence is the only conversation heâs ever known how to finish.
âDonât touch me.â you say, in vain, because it comes out as a breathy plaint.
âWeâre way past that.â
âYouâre so disgusting. You get off on doing disgusting things like that, donât you? Fucking pervert.â your eyes are bored in his now, more honest that your bodies have ever been.
Then Riki does something so out of characterâ yet so him, and your lungs suddenly become a mere accessory rather than organs.
He grabs your throat suddenly, long fingers wrapping around it, squeezing not too tight but firm enough to make your pulse jump under his fingers. The pressure is controlled, thumb pressing lightly against the side of your neck where your heartbeat flutters wildly. His gripâs warm, steady, dangerous and you can feel the restrained power in his hand, the way his fingers flex as if debating how much tighter he could go.
It sends a rush of heat through you despite everything.
âDonât call me that,â he says, triggered.
His shoulders broaden as he squares himself, every tendon in his forearms standing out beneath taut skin.
Rikiâs so close now, nose brushing yours, eyes burning with pure fury, and youâd be lying if you said you werenât dying from how exhilarating it feels.
âIâll call you whatever the fuck I want.â You push his buttons on purpose, loving the way his anger tastesâ like something filthy and sour on your tongue.
âFuck you, Y/n.â
Thereâs a thin line between hatred and desireâand only then, youâre starting to feel it dissolve until you can no longer tell whether the pounding in your chest is fury or fascination, whether you want to shove him away or pull him closer just to understand why he gets beneath your skin like that.
âMm, fuck me?â You tilt your head, defiant, lips inches from his.
Riki loses it. Air sticks in his lungs and his eyes flutter shut for a split secondâ heâs forgotten how to breathe now, the words ricochet through him, splintering whatever fragile restraint heâd been clinging to.
His jaw tightens so hard it aches, a muscle feathering beneath his skin as he swallows back something he canât afford to say.
âDonât say shit like that.â he goes instead, but it comes out breathy.
âWhy? Scared?â You get closer, pushing every button you can reach.
Because close just isnât close enoughâ and flustered isnât nearly flustered enough. Because you want him reeling, struggling to even function, you want him to be putty in your handsâ just out of pure spite.
Rikiâs stuck between two different worldsâ he wants to push you off, watch you fall and trip but at the same time he wants to fuck the attitude right out of youâ teach you a lesson.
He doesnât acknowledge it, but he feels it somewhere low, warmth spreading. Heâs too far gone.
Your mouths hover dangerously close, so much so that you can feel his breath, hot and ragged against your lips. His hand tightens slightly on your throat, not hurting, just holding. Claiming almost, in all its irony.
But the choreographerâs voice echoes faintly from the hallway, and youâre both forced to pull away instantly, breathless, chests heaving.
The momentâs over and the bodies are done speaking.
Riki turns sharply and stalks toward the bathroom, fists tight at his sides while you scratch your arm anxiously, nails digging into skin as if you can claw the tension out of your body.
Three days after the practice room incident, Hybe decides to play niceâ characteristically⌠They organize a mandatory âteam bondingâ dinner for everyone involved in the collaboration projectâR3SET, Enhypen, choreographers, and a few other staffs.
The official reason is to âbuild chemistryâ and âcelebrate the upcoming performance.â
The real reason, you suspect, is damage control after too many rumors about visible tension between you and Riki.
The company hates bad optics.
âTouch myselfâ hasnât really resulted in anything good, apart from fuelling your self hatred.
The choreographer wasnât exceptionally happy, and so were youâ for fucks sake, because of him, youâd been forced to confront that you were an entirely too deprived woman.
Itâs true, thatâs the only viable answer, you havenât done anything with anyone in years, and so itâs only natural that any physical touch sends you into a whole different headspaceâ even if itâs not one youâd desire. Desperate times.
So, the dinner is held at a private restaurant downtown, dim lighting, long wooden tables, expensive hanwoo beef, and enough soju to drown in. You show up with your members, ankle mostly healed but still a little stiff, wearing simple black pants and a sophisticated top. You tell yourself itâll be just fine, Rikiâs most likely forgotten about it already.
But the second you walk in, your eyes find him across the room. You end up near the middle of the long table, directly across from him.
He looks annoying in all black, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy, his eyes flick to you every few minutesâ totally unreadable. You donât look away, god you never do.
Jake sits a few seats down, trying to make polite conversation with Seraâ you wouldnât fail to mention youâre still slightly annoyed at him, but that feels like background noise compared to the live wire stretching across the table.
Rage is merely just rage when itâs not directed at Nishimura Riki.
Hye-ri leans toward you at one point, whispering, âHe keeps staring. You good?â
âIâm fabulous,â you mutter, stabbing a piece of beef harder than necessary.
Rikiâs voice cuts through the chatter a moment later, directed at no one in particular but clearly meant for you. âSome people should probably stay off their feet more. Wouldnât want another dramatic injury right before the performance.â
You smile sweetly, tilting your head. âSome people should probably mind their own fucking business.â
The table quiets a little. Jake shifts uncomfortably and Sunoo coughs into his drink amused.
Riki leans back in his chair, lips curving into that infuriating half-smirk. âJust looking out for the team. Wouldnât want you to trip on stage because youâre too stubborn to rest properly.â
âTouching,â you reply, voice dripping with sarcasm. âDidnât know you cared so much about my well-being, Nishimura.â
âI donât.â His eyes lock onto yours. âI care about the performance not sucking because of you.â
The air crackles and Hye-ri kicks you under the table. Of course you kick her back.
The rest of dinner is a masterclass in passive-aggressive warfare; every time someone mentions the collaboration, Riki finds a way to slip in a subtle jab. Every time, you fire back sharper until by dessert, the tension feels thick enough to choke on.
You excuse yourself to the bathroom just to breathe, splashing some water on your neckâ soothing the physical reaction heâs inflicted upon you. When you come out, Riki is leaning against the wall in the hallway, waiting.
âRunning away already?â he asks, voice low.
âFuck off.â
He steps closer, crowding you against the wall without actually touching you. âYouâve been quiet lately. No insults. No nothing. Almost like youâre avoiding me.â
You lift your chin, refusing to back down. âWhat? Youâre gonna beg me for insults again?â
Rikiâs jaw tightens and for a second, something dangerous flickers in his eyes, youâre not sure he knows exactly what youâre referring to though. âYou wish.â
Then he walks away, leaving you standing there with your heart pounding and your hands clenched into fists.
That night, you dreamâ you dream like you havenât dreamt in months. See, you had the habit of dreaming about totally incoherent things, your older brother getting kidnapped by aliens, your step mom catching a cold and growing wings⌠and that dream doesnât differ, itâs totally incongruous.
In it, the studioâs empty, mirrors stretching endlessly in every direction, the lights are low and warm. Youâre dancing, but itâs no longer really choreography.
Rikiâs hands are on your waist, pulling you flush against himâ thereâs no hatred in the movement this timeâ only hunger. You shove him, but he spins you around and presses you against the mirror, cold glass against your front, his body hot and solid behind you.
âYou talk so much shit,â he whispers against your ear, one hand sliding up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher. âBut look at you now.â
You gasp as his fingers find bare skin. âFuck you.â
âYeah?â Rikiâs voice is rough, dangerous. âYou want that?â
In the dream you hate him and want him in equal measure. You push back against him, grinding, feeling how hard he is, his hand wraps around your throat from behindâ not tight enough to hurt, but enough to make you arch. His other hand slips between your legs, teasing, stroking, making you moan despite yourself.
âYouâre so fucking wet for someone who hates me,â he murmurs, biting your shoulder. âSay it. Say you want me to fuck you.â
âI hate you,â you breathe, but your hips roll back against his hand anyway.
He laughs, low and dark, pressing you harder into the mirror. âLiar.â
The dream shifts and suddenly he has you on the floor, legs wrapped around his waist as he thrusts into youâ deep, angry, perfect. Every snap of his hips feels like punishment and reward at once. You scratch down his back, drawing blood and he bites your neck hard enough to leave marks. The mirrors reflect a hundred versions of you two like fucking animalsâ sweat-slick, desperate, beautiful in the worst way.
âI hate you,â you moan as he fucks you harder.
Rikiâs eyes are wild. âThen prove it.â
You wake up gasping, sheets tangled around your legs, heart hammering, and a slick heat between your thighs that makes you want to scream. You sit up in the dark, pressing your palms to your burning face.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The body has always been a terrible liar.
The mind can sharpen hatred into something cleanâ something so easy to hold. It can rehearse every reason to leave, every wound, every insult, every unforgivable thing. It can swear that this person disgusts youâ that youâd sooner bite your own tongue than admit theyâre the only thing you want to loose yourself into.
And then your pulse betrays you. Your breath catches when they get too close to the real thing, your pupils widen before your pride has the chance to object. Every nerve ending reaches for what your conscience insists it should reject. The body doesnât understand morality; it understands chemistry and biology; doesnât distinguish between danger and desire nearly as well as youâd like to believe.
Maybe thatâs why hatred and longing have always lived so close together. Both consume. Both obsess. The difference is thinner than anyone admitsâ a line so delicate that all it takes is one glance, one accidental touch, one moment of vulnerability, and suddenly you no longer know whether your racing heart is preparing you to fight them or kiss them.
Thatâs why, after that dream, you avoid him like the plague. The following weeks are a careful dance of deliberate distance; you show up to group meetings late and leave early. You switch practice times when possible, you bury yourself in solo schedules, self-help books (that donât help with anything actually) and long conversations with Hye-ri that always circle back to the same frustrating question: why does suffering attract you more than living a gentle life?
You delete the drunk call from your call log like it never happened, you tell yourself the dream meant nothing. Just stress. Just exhaustion. Just your body playing cruel tricks.
But the avoidance only makes it worse, every time you catch a glimpse of him in the hallway, your stomach flips. Every time his name comes up in conversation, your jaw tightens.
But today heâs inevitable. Duty calls. And so here you are, stuck in the dance studio again with him.
The choreographer wanted you both to review the latest self-tapes aloneâ auto-evaluation before the final run throughs. No dancing today, just critique; so you came straight from another schedule, still wearing the black heels from the event and the black skirt theyâd told you to wearâbecause you just couldnât be bothered to change.
Now they click sharply against the floor as you pace, hands on your hips, eyes glued to the small television screen playing the footage.
Riki stands a few feet away, arms crossed, watching with that same unreadable expression. Heâs wearing a goddamn chrome hearts tank top, one that highlights the muscles in his back, makes him look unfairly lean and does a poor job at keeping you focused.
The footage playsâ and technically, itâs flawless. The lines are clean, the timingâs sharp. But the chemistry is nonexistent. You both look like youâd rather murder each other than touch, naturally.
You point at the screen. âYour shoulder drops there. Sloppy.â
Riki scoffs. âMy shoulder is fine. Youâre the one rushing the transition.â
You whirl on him. âAt least I commit. You move like youâre scared to touch me. Afraid Iâll stab you in the back or something?â
He steps closer, eyes narrowing. âMaybe I am. We both know what youâre capable of when you want something.â
The jab lands harder than you expect, you feel heat rise in your cheeks. âFuck you. At least I donât throw tantrums like a spoiled kid every time things donât go my way.â
That one hits and Rikiâs expression darkens. In response, he pushes you with his armâ not hard, but enough to make you stumble back. Your injured leg buckles slightly, still weak from the sprain. Pain shoots up your ankle and you lose balance, arms flailing.
Riki moves instinctivelyâ ironic isnât it?â his hands catch youâone on your waist, the other gripping your armâ steadying you before you fall. Itâs almost laughable⌠the force that sent you stumbling is the same one that keeps you upright.
For a moment, everything stops, his touchâs firm but careful. Not the bruising grip from before. Not the angry shove. Just⌠support. His fingers press lightly against your waist, warm through the thin fabric of your top. It feels almost like pity. Like heâs handling something he doesnât want to break yet.
The silence stretches until your eyes meet his. His breath is close and for once, thereis no venom in his gazeâ just surprise.
You shake him off almost immediately, stepping back like his touch burned you. âDonât touch me.â
Rikiâs hands drop and the mask of indifference slides back into place. âWhatever. Donât fall and blame me later.â
âYoure the one who just pushed me.â you mutter under your breath, boiling.
The footage loops again and again, but neither of you is really watching anymore. The real performance is happening right hereâ two people circling each other with words like weapons.
Eventually the tape ends and you exhale sharply. âWeâre done. Iâm leaving.â
You grab your badge, and purse, turn toward the door in one smooth motion, heels clicking. But when you push the handle, it doesnât budge. You try again. Nothing.
âWhat the fuck?â You rattle the door harder. âDid you lock it?â
Riki raises an eyebrow. âWhy would I lock it?â
You try again, panic starting to creep in. âOpen the damn door, Riki.â
He sighs, walks over, tries the handle and it doesnât move. âItâs stuck.â
You reach for your phone, heart hammering and you text Hye-ri a hundred times in rapid succession.
Door wonât open. Studio 4. Come get me. Help. HELP. Help. HELPPP. SOS.
But no reply comes, so you call her, it goes straight to voicemail. You text Heeseung nextâ because what wouldnât you do for an escape? Still nothing.
"Aren't you gonna do anything??" you turn to Riki.
"My phone's dead" he shrugs.
âIâm gonna call the police, I swear to god,â you mutter, pacing.
Riki rolls his eyes, tapping his foot on the floor repeatedlyâ the sound grating on your nerves.
âCan you stop tapping on the floor before I eviscerate you?â you snap.
âGet over yourselfâ
You try the doorknob again, naively. Of course itâs not gonna budge, why would it ? The universe wants you in a secluded room with Nishimura Rikiâ probably natural selection or somethingâŚ
You rattle the handle a little harder anyway, as if stubbornness alone might intimidate the lock into cooperating. It doesnât. It only rewards your efforts with another dull metallic clunk that echoes through the room like itâs laughing at you.
âWhy arenât you charging your goddamn phone anyway? To call people. At least be fucking useful.â you turn to him.
He leans against the wall, watching you with that infuriating calmâ and sweat beads on your skin as you fight the punch that you want to give him.
âOh god, I hate you,â you finally hiss, stepping closer.
Something in him shifts, not visiblyâ but you catch it because youâre looking; his shoulders loosen by a fraction, the corner of his mouth threatens to betray him. Your words donât land like an insult; they settle somewhere far more dangerous.
Hatredâs always been your most honest language with himx Every glare, every cutting remark, every venom-laced sentence means youâve looked at him long enough to feel something. It means heâs gotten under your skin again. That heâs occupied another corner of your mind he had no business claiming.
To anyone else, your words would sound like rejection.
To Riki, they sound like proof.
Proof that he still affects you.
Proof that indifferenceâs never been an option.
He lets the silence stretch, savoring the confession hidden beneath the hostility before his gaze locks onto yours, dark with unmistakable satisfaction
âSay that again.â
You step even closer, heels making you taller but still smaller than him. âI. Hate. You.â
His gaze flickers over your expression for a second longer than it should, like heâs memorizing the contradiction in front of him: someone who claims to despise him yet keeps moving closer, someone who throws daggers with their words but refuses to walk away.
Riki looks down and you catch him staring at your legs almost instantly. âStop looking at my fucking legs, you perv.â
âWell then stop wearing heels in a practice room maybe?â
âIâve got somewhere to be after this, dipshit.â you roll your eyes, suddenly feeling small under his scrutiny.
âThen put them back on after this, like a normal person.â
âWe just came in here to review the footage. Stop acting like Iâm dancing in heels or something. Or maybeâwho knowsâ maybe I just like pissing you off.â
âIt doesnât piss me off. Itâs just annoying as hell. You make a lot of noise. Walking around like you wanna get my attention or something.â
âGet your attention? Please. Youâre ridiculous. You know why I put them on? Because deep down my biggest wish is to step on you with them till you choke and die or something.â
Rikiâs breath catches, you watch his adamâs apple bob as he swallows and he takes a careful step back. The topic of heels is a no-go.
âStop saying nonsense and just go work on getting someone to open the door.â He sounds slightly breathless.
âIâm trying, fucker.â
âWell try harder, bitch.â
âKeep calling me that name and Iâll really step on you. And I wonât be gentle.â you raise your chin, defiant.
âOh, cause you think I want you gentle?â
Heat floods your face and chest. Then something dark and dangerous twists in your stomachâ equal parts fury and unwanted thrill.
You step closer instead of recoiling, eyes narrowing, lips parting on a sharp, incredulous exhale. The implication hangs between you like smokeâthick, filthy, impossible to ignore. Your mind flashes with vivid, unwanted images: his hands rough, your nails digging in, bodies colliding with nothing soft or kind between you.
The thought disgusts you but it also makes your thighs press together instinctively. How much of a contradiction could you be?
âYouâre so perverted itâs disgusting.â you resort to insults, because thatâs all you know.
âPerverted? Youâre the one who came in here wearing these.â
âTheyâre just heels. Youâre a weirdo. You think I put them on for you or something? Donât you remember when you called me drunk the other night? You seemed to like them just then.â
Riki freezes. âWhat are you talking about?â
âOh, you donât remember?â You lean into it, savoring the upper hand and sprinkling a little bit of lies. âNishimura, you called me. Said a bunch of shit. Got really vulnerable. Told me exactly how the heels made you feel, pathetic, really.â
âI didnât say all that, Y/n. Stop.â
Airâs gone rancid, thick with the stink of want, choking you both, but you only step closer, voice low and taunting. âYou did though. You probably wish you could touch them, stop being such a pussy and admit it.â
Rikiâs eyes flash and that shakes off the last thread of self control and inhibition, âYeah? And what if I did?â His voice drops dangerously. âWhat if I grabbed your thighs and spread them right there? Would you still act like you hate me then?â
What. the. fuck.
Thereâs the moment, where the truth comes out. Where the line shatters. Where hatred and desire melt together and become one.
Thereâs no fury like trying to contain such levels of want. Like trying to contain something that was never meant to be contained.
Because the hardest battle was never between you and him, no it was between what you felt and what you were willing to admit.
The space between you vanishes, your back hits the wall. His hand braces beside your head and you tilt your head back until the tip of your nose touches his, heart thundering. âFuck⌠I hate you.â
Youâre like prey and predatorâ except youâre the embodiment of both. And in the end, how do you run from something that exists inside you? How do you fight an instinct that is just as much a part of you as the fear trying to resist it?
Youâre the one who bares your teeth, the one who strikes first, the one who convinces yourself that staying sharp means staying safe. But youâre also the one who freezes when he gets too close, the one who feels every shift in the air between you, the one whose body reacts before your pride has the chance to intervene.
A contradiction wearing the shape of a person.
You want to win, but you also want to be understood. You want to push him away, but some reckless part of you keeps stepping closer. You hate the power he has over you, yet you keep giving him opportunities to use it.
âI hate you more.â Riki says, comforting the both of you into thinking this is still strictly hatred. âHate you so bad it hurts.â
Thats when it happens. Between a hitch of breath and a gasp, you loose it.
The kiss is sudden, angry, desperate. Mouths crashing together like a collisionâ teeth and tongue and pure adrenaline. Itâs hate and wantâ months of a cutthroat chase. Two bodies finally allowing theirselves to feel something other than destruction.
His hand slides into your hair, gripping hard, you bite his bottom lip. He groans into your mouth and presses you harder against the wall.
Your fingers fist in his shirt as Rikiâs thigh presses between yours. The kiss is messy, violent, itâs a murder of prideâ until thereâs nowhere left to hide because heâs all over your body, gripping, binding.
He bites on your lower lip and you bite back just as hard, sinking your teeth into his lip until you taste the sharp metallic tang of blood. He groans into your mouth, the sound vibrating through your chest, and in response he shoves you back against the mirror with enough force to make the glass rattle.
Your back hits the cool surface first. Then the rest of youâ shoulders, hips, thighs. The mirror is cold while heâs burning hot. The contrast makes you gasp into his mouth and he takes advantage immediately, tongue sliding deep, claiming, devouring.
One of his hands fists in your hair, yanking your head back so he can kiss you harder, deeper, filthier. You tug right back, fingers twisting in his strands, pulling until he hisses in pain and pleasure.
Youâre both predators now. No prey. No bunnies. Just two starving animals finally allowed to tear into each other.
Rikiâs thigh presses between your legs, grinding up hard against your coreâ you roll your hips down to meet him, desperate and violent, chasing friction through your clothes. Every roll of your hips makes the mirror shake behind you and his cockâs already so hard, straining against his pants, pressing insistently against your thigh. You can feel how much he hates how badly he wants this.
âFuck you,â he snarls against your lips, biting down on your bottom lip in retaliation. âYouâre such a brat.â
You moan into his mouth, the sound muffled and broken. He wraps one large hand around your throat and squeezesâ not enough to hurt, but enough to make your head spin. The pressureâs perfect, making you clench around nothing, drunk on the pain. Your pulse flutters wildly under his palm and he squeezes a little tighter until you moan louder, the sound vibrating against his fingers.
âThere it isâŚâ Riki pants, lips brushing yours, voice dark âSee? Your body doesnât lie. It fucking loves me.â
His cock presses against your clit through the fabric, a delicious friction that makes your head foggy, hands clawing at him for more, more, more and everything. His free hand goes to your ass, digging in and pushing you closer to him, hardness rubbing right where you need him the most. And in secondâ his mouthâs on your neck, canines poking at your tender skin until youâre moaning, hips moving like they have a mind of their own.
âLook at youâ moaning like a desperate little slut just from this.â you feel Rikiâs smirk even if you canât see it.
You try to snap back, but he bites down again and your words dissolve into another broken moan. He laughs, low and mean, grinding harder between your legs.
âPathetic,â he murmurs, lips trailing down your jaw. âAll that hate and your pussyâs still soaking for me.â
The fucker doesnât even bother taking your clothes off properly. In one rough motion he yanks your skirt up around your waist, the fabric bunching messily and his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties. Then, he rips them clean off with a sharp tear that echoes in the studio, and throws them somewhere. The cool air hits your soaked cunt and you shiver.
He looks down, cock twitching in his pants as he witnesses the sheer amount of wetness coating thighs and pussy. âFuckâ he breathes out, fingers hooking to collect your arousal and toy with it. âLook at thatâŚâ
Riki brings his soaked fingers to your mouth and pushes them pas your lips without a second thought. When he feels you suck your juices off of them, his hips jerk, bulge pressing right against your dripping cunt, the front of his pants covered in your arousal.
âMessy girl.â he forces your mouth closed by pressing your cheeks together, âSwallowâ
You doâ because thereâs nothing more exhilarating and humbling that getting a direct taste of what you used to call âhatred.â
âFuck youâ just fuck me already, get this over with.â you say, chin held high like he didnât just humiliate you.
He smiles tauntingly, frees himself from his pants with impatient hands, cock hard, flushed and leaking. And dammitâ youâd never admit it to his face, but heâs big, thick and dripping at the tip. You stare at it for a split second, wondering if itâll hurt. But you donât couldnât care less about the hurt, as long as it makes you feel something.
âYou want it?â Riki rasps, lining himself up with your entrance, the head of his cock teasing your soaked folds. You nod, because itâs obvious you do, and he retaliates, âThen beg for it properly, you brat. Or iâll leave you here dripping and desperate like the pathetic liar you are.â
The words burn through youâ your pride screams at you to shove him away, to spit in his face, to keep hating him like you always have. But your body is a merciless traitorâ clenching around nothing, dripping down your thighs, aching so badly it hurts. Youâre trembling with rage and need, nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks.
âFuck you,â you hiss, voice shaking. âJust fuck me already. Please.â
âThere it is. See? Youâre not that useless.â He nips at your neck, all condescending.
In one brutal thrust he buries himself inside you to the hilt, stretching you open so suddenly and so deep that your head falls back against the mirror with a broken cry. The burn is delicious. Heâs thick, hot, and so fucking hard it feels like heâs splitting you apart in the best worst way.
You both groan at the same time. Heâs so deep it hurts, you can feel him everywhere, invading your body like a sickness. Your walls clench around him like a vice, wet and greedy and Rikiâs head drops to your shoulder with a guttural curse.
âFuck⌠so tight,â he groans, voice wrecked. âYour pussyâs choking me. Greedy little cuntâ hates me but still sucks me in like it was made for me.â
He starts fucking you hard right away. No warmup. No leniency.
Each thrust slams you back against the mirror, the glass rattling dangerously with every brutal snap of his hips. The sound of skin slapping skin fills the studio, wet and obscene and your heels scrape against the back of his thighs as he drives into you deeper, harder, faster.
But Rikiâs eyes keep dropping.
To your legs.
To those fucking heels.
His hand slides down your thigh, gripping the back of your knee and hiking it higher around his waist. His fingers trace the sharp edge of it, thumb pressing into the arch of your foot through the strap.
âThese goddamn heels,â he utters against your neck, voice rough and filthy as he pounds into you. âYou know what they do to me. You fucking know.â
You hook your leg to his waist, heel digging into the back of his thigh.
âShit âlook at you,â he pants, eyes dark as he fucks you stupid. He can finally admit just how much he loves your legs, anything thatâs yours really.
You claw at his back, nails digging through his shirt and hhe yanks your hair, forcing your head back so he can bite down on your exposed throat.
âSay it,â he demands, pounding into you relentlessly. âSay you fucking need this.â
You moan loudly, eyes fluttering. âFuck⌠youââ
Riki laughs darkly and slams in harder, hitting that spot inside you that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. âThatâs what I thought. Bratty little whore. Canât even lie properly when Iâm balls deep inside you.â
He edges you mercilessly, every time you get close, thighs shaking, walls fluttering around him, he slows down or pulls almost all the way out, leaving you clenching desperately around nothing. You whine, hips chasing him, pride crumbling under the overwhelming need.
âBeg for it,â he taunts, voice rough as gravel. âI know you can do that, canât you?â
You shake your head, teeth gritted, stubborn to the end even as tears of frustration prick your eyes. âFuck⌠youâŚâ
Riki pulls out completely this time, leaving you empty and throbbing. You moan in frustration and snap, before he can say another word, you grab his cockâ hot, slick with your arousalâand shove it back inside you yourself, forcing him deep in one rough motion.
Riki groans loudly, forehead dropping to yours and you kiss him viciously, biting his lip again as you roll your hips, taking control for one glorious second.
The pace turns frantic after thatâ he fucks you like he wants to break you. You meet every thrust with equal violence, legs wrapped tight around his waist.
He wraps his hand around your throat again, squeezing just right as he drives into you harder.
âYou gonna cum for me?â he says against your mouth. You let out a pathetic moan at that, âYeah I know⌠youâre taking it so well for such a bad girl.â
This time Riki doesnât stop. The orgasm crashes into you like a freight train, your whole body seizes, walls clamping down around him like a vice as pleasure rips through you in violent waves. You cry out, nails raking down his back, thighs shaking uncontrollably. It feels endlessâ white-hot, devastating.
The best thing youâve ever tastedâ no matter how hard it is to admit.
Riki follows right after you, burying himself deep with a broken groan. His hips stutter, cock pulsing as he spills inside you, cum painting your walls messilyâ he keeps thrusting through it, riding out every last twitch, forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling in harsh pants.
For a long moment, the only sounds in the studio are your ragged breathing and the faint creak of the mirror behind you. His cum drips from where youâre connected, painting your thighs in the proof of his need.
Then silence.
Heavy, stunned, devastating silence.
After that day, everything changesâand somehow stays exactly the same. Finding out Heeseung was the one who locked you both in the rehearsal room to mend for yourselves is nothing short of a surprise. But you couldnât care lessâ youre way past that, way past pretending you werenât thriving when the attention Riki gave you was âalbeit still embedded within the rageâ pleasurable.
You grow addicted to it, almost like an addict coming back to a terrible drug. Youâd go to rehab eventually, when thereâs finally enough of you left to want saving.
But not today. Today, you let yourself sink deeperâ you relish in the ruins of your past, the violence that consumes you.
You know exactly what it does to youâ you know how it hollows you out, how it leaves your hands shaking long after the high has worn off, yet you return anyway, chasing the familiar ache because itâs easier than learning how to live without it.
Healing can wait. Right now, thereâs still comfort in the catastrophe.
You and Riki continue to ruin each other.
You spread rumors, run your mouth to whomever wants to hear itâ rant about how awful he is. He leaks old trainee footage that makes you look difficult; you sabotage a schedule overlap. He makes sure a stylist âaccidentallyâ gives you the wrong outfit for a performance. The company watches, the fans speculate. The hatred becomes public performance and private war.
But the sex never stops.
He strokes himself many times in the following weeks; in the shower, in his bed at night. Even through the thick, choking layer of disgust that never fully leaves him, he cannot stop wanting you. He comes hard every time, hating himself more with every stroke, but he keeps doing it anyway.
Touching happens anytime you can get away with it. In the locked studio again, late at night. He fucks you bent over the piano,
âFight me while I fuck you,â he groans against your ear, one hand fisted in your hair. âI love it when youâre angry.â You scratch his arms bloody and he only rails you harder.
In the back of a company van after a late schedule, windows fogged up, his hand clamped over your mouth while he rails you from behind; you bite his fingers until they bleed and he calls you his little pain slut.
You donât even take it personallyâ youâve learned to live with the idea that the insults are a mere reflections of your self hatreds. When Riki calls you names, heâs only damning himself for falling into temptation, for needing you the way he does. You let him. Because you hate yourself just as much.
In an empty waiting room during an award show, your dress hiked up, his pants barely undone; he makes you ride him while still wearing your stage heels, the sharp points digging into his thighs as you bounce on his cock. âLook at you,â he pantsâ although heâll never tell you just how devastatingly beautiful he finds you, he makes allusions to it, letting you unveil it bit by bit. âFaster, you can do it canât you?â
Encounters multiply, Riki chokes you until you see starsâ itâs a language you master by now. You slap him across the face and he laughs, blood on his lip, before flipping you over and spanking you raw; and every single time you come out bruised, wrecked and markd. He edges you for hours until youâre crying and begging and you end up riding his face until he canât breathe, grinding down on his tongue like you want to smother him.
Itâs violent, ugly; thereâs nothing worth wanting about it. Nothing tender. Nothing enviable. Just two people mistaking collision for connection, trying to quiet feelings theyâve never learned to hold without destroying each other.
Your bodies are perfectly aligned. They crave each other with a violence that borders on worship. But your minds? Your souls? They cannot stand each other.
The incompatibility reveals itself slowly, then all at once. The fights grow uglier. The sex grows rougher. The silences between grow heavier.
You start avoiding each otherâs eyes even when youâre buried inside one another; the hatred no longer fuels the fireâit poisons it. You hurt each other too deeply, too often, too deliberatelyâ until thereâs no coming back from some wounds.
No amount of orgasms can erase the years of betrayal.
One night, after another brutal fuck in a hotel room, you lie beside him in silence. The sheets are tangled around your legs, damp with sweat and his cum is still leaking slowly down your thighs, warm and sticky, a filthy reminder of how deep heâd been inside you just minutes ago. The room smells like sexâ musky, salty, desperate. The only light comes from the city glowing through the half-open curtains, casting long shadows across the bed.
Youâre both on your backs, shoulders barely touching, staring at the ceiling like it holds answersâ your chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven breaths. Your body still hums with the aftershocksâ thighs sore, throat raw from his hands, lips swollen from biting and being bitten.
The ache between your legs is deep and satisfying in the worst way.
Rikiâs breathing is just as raggedâ his hand twitches once like he wants to reach for you, then stills. He doesnât.
The silence stretches, until finally, you speak, voice hoarse and bitter.
ââŚThis is so fucking stupid.â
Riki lets out a low, humorless laugh that sounds more like a exhale of pain. âYeah. It is.â
You turn your head slightly, just enough to see his profile in the dim light. His jawâs tight. A fresh bite mark blooms red on his collarboneâ your doing. You feel a twisted sense of satisfaction, then immediate disgust at yourself. Heâs not yours, you shouldnât make him look like he is.
âI donât know why we keep doing thisâ you whisper, more to yourself than to him. âTheres no point.â
Riki doesnât answer right away. He runs a hand over his face, then lets it drop heavily onto the mattress between you.
âThings donât always have to have a pointâ he says eventually, voice rough. âwe can do things that arenât⌠good. Who cares.â
You swallow hard. âI do,â you admit quietly. âI let you fuck me like you want to break me.â
Riki turns his head toward you, his eyes are dark, unreadable. âYou do the same thing to me. You know that right? You can say whatever you want but weâve always been equals.â
A long silence falls again.
You feel the familiar ache in your chestâ the one that has nothing to do with the rough sex and everything to do with the fact that this, whatever this is, can never be anything more.
âWeâre going to destroy each other,â you say softly, almost sadly.
Rikiâs jaw clenches. âYeah. We are.â
He doesnât reach for you and you donât reach for him. You both lie there, bodies still tangled, hearts completely separate, knowing full well that youâll do it all over again the next time the opportunity arises.
Because thatâs just what you do. Because the heart isnât a courtroom; it doesnât grant leniency, it only delivers its verdict. And the verdict, in the end, is simple: some people are destined to destroy. You and Riki were never going to be the exceptionâ you were always going to be the cautionary tale.
You took a four-month hiatus to save your career after your breakup with Riki caused a huge scandal. When you finally return, the company has the two of you record a dance video together.
pairing: idol!exbf!riki x idol!reader â
contains: fluff skinship kissing light angst cyber bullying rumors hate comments kpop scandal breakup arguing riki's a flirt đ§
âš
@ idolsdaily
đ¨ ENHYPEN's Ni-ki and REPLAY's Y/n caught fighting outside HYBE.
The two idols were seen having a heated argument outside the HYBE building today before Y/n appeared to push Ni-ki in the chest. Witnesses say the argument lasted several minutes before they walked away separately.
[đĽÂ Video attached]
You take a deep breath before pushing open the door of the practice room.
Music hums quietly from the speakers, Riki's phone is charging in the corner, water bottles are scattered across the floor. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, Riki looks up.
His footsteps are heavy against the wooden floor as he walks straight toward you. One hand drags through his hair, pushing it back out of his face, bracelets sliding down his wrist and clinking softly with every step.
He's dressed exactly how you'd expect him to be, oversized sweatpants hanging low on his hips, a black hoodie with the zipper halfway down over a white tank top, silver jewellery around his neck, on his wrists and in his ears.
A smile spreads across his face before he's even reached you.
"There she is."
Without thinking twice, he opens his arms for a hug.
You hesitate for half a second. Then you step forward just enough to give him a quick side hug, one arm patting his back once before immediately pulling away.
"Hi."
The smile leaves his face almost as quickly as it came.
"...Hey."
You don't linger, you walk past him toward the corner of the room where his black duffel bag is already thrown on the floor. You quietly set yours beside it, unzip it to grab your water bottle, then sit down on the floor, keeping a comfortable amount of distance between the chair he was on and yourself.
Riki slowly walks back too. He drops into the chair with a sigh, legs spread, leaning back so far it almost looks ridiculous. One arm hangs over the backrest while the other absentmindedly taps against his thigh.
The silence feels unfamiliar, there used to be a time when the two of you couldn't stop talking. Now even finding the first sentence feels awkward.
He clears his throat. "So..."
His eyes flick toward you. "How've you been?"
You look up from unscrewing your water bottle. "Good."
"...Good?"
"Yeah ...You?"
"I'm alright."
âÂ
Four months ago, this room would've sounded completely different.
You would've stolen his chair before he got to it. He would've complained while trying to pull you onto his lap anyway. You would've argued over which song to warm up with, flirted your way through practice, shared snacks during breaks, and left to his dorm after.
You had dated for a year.
A year full of arguments about stupid things.
Who forgot to text back, who cancelled plans because of practice, who was too lazy, who didn't listen. The little fights started happening so much they stopped feeling little.
When you finally broke up with him, the company immediately stepped in.
"Due to increasingly busy schedules, the idols have decided to end their relationship by mutual agreement and focus on their personal careers.â
It would've worked if nobody had seen the argument.
Someone had filmed the two of you outside the HYBE building after a rehearsal. The video only lasted twelve seconds, but it changed everything.
You raising your voice, Riki slamming the door in frustration. You giving his chest one small shove to get past him. It wasn't violent, it barely moved him.Â
But online, rumours and theories spread faster than ever.
"She hit him!"
"He's controlling."
"Ew they're so toxic."
âGet rid of both of them!â
"Enhypen and Replay definitely hate each other."
Every livestream theyâd bring it up. Every airport appearance theyâd call you out.Â
Your anxiety got so bad you stopped sleeping.
Eventually, you were completely removed from the schedules by the company. Mostly for your mental health, but it was also to let the scandal die before it dragged down not only you, but Replay, Enhypen, and HYBE itself.
â
For Riki, the past four months had been strange.
Not nearly as hard as they were for you, but nowhere near as easy as they should've been either.
The first few weeks after the breakup, he was just angry. Angry that you'd broken up with him. Angry that one stupid argument had somehow turned into the biggest scandal either of your groups had ever dealt with. Angry that everything had spiraled over something that should've stayed between the two of you.
So he did what every stubborn twenty-year-old guy does when his heart gets broken.
He blocked you. Your number, your private Instagram, he blocked Replay on Spotify and removed you from all your shared playlists. Anything that had your name attached to it disappeared from his phone within minutes.
If someone mentioned your group backstage, he'd quietly leave the conversation. Whenever your name somehow came up during interviews or variety content, he'd pretend not to hear it.
He was convinced the easiest way to get over you was to act like you didn't exist.
It didn't work.
Then the company announced your hiatus.
At first he thought it'd only be for a week or two, maybe until things calmed down online. But you disappeared completely.
During those long, quiet months, his anger slowly started fading. Because the more he replayed that argument in his head, the more he realized he couldn't keep blaming only you.
Yeah, you pushed his chest. Barely.Â
But he was the one who kept following you outside, he was the one who wouldn't let the argument end. He kept provoking you, throwing little comments your way because he was frustrated and wanted the last word.
Neither of you had noticed someone recording. Neither of you wanted the internet to twist twelve seconds into an entire theory.
It wasn't your fault that someone happened to have their phone pointed at you two. And it definitely wasn't your fault that millions of people decided they knew exactly what your relationship had was like.
The anger turned into guilt quickly. Especially every time he made the mistake of opening comments.
"Kick Y/N out of Replay."
"She pushed him. I don't care if it was 'lightly.'"
"Poor Ni-ki deserves better."
"She's only crying because she got caught."
"Hope her hiatus becomes permanent."
"Blink twice if HYBE is forcing you to defend her."
He hated reading it. One afternoon he'd gotten so frustrated that he marched straight to his manager.
"People need to stop this."
The manager looked up from his laptop. "We're handling it."
"No, you're not. She barely touched me."
"We know."
"Then why aren't you saying anything?"
"Because responding will only make the situation bigger."
His jaw clenched. "They're tearing her apart."
"We understand."
The room fell quiet, the manager sighed. "Ni-ki."
He already knew he wasn't going to like whatever came next.
"Do not say anything publicly. Not on Weverse. Not on live. Not during interviews. Nowhere."
He stared at him in disbelief. "She's getting hated every single day."
"And if you speak up, people will start talking again."
"But she doesn't deserveâ"
"I know. But the best thing you can do for y/n right now... is let the situation die."
He hated that answer. He wanted to tell everyone that you'd never hurt him and that the fight had been both of your faults.
But all he could do was wait. Wait for the hate to die down, or for the day he'd finally get to see you again, he even wasnât sure what he was waiting for.
Finally, around the third month, something slowly started to change.
People got bored. New scandals happened, new rumors started, people actually began looking back at the original clip instead of just repeating what everyone else had been saying. The comments slowly became less hateful.
"That's the push everyone's talking about? She literally barely touched him."
"We don't even know what happened before."
"Ni-ki was yelling at her too."
"This was obviously just a couple arguing. Why is everyone acting like she's some criminal?
"Y'all ruined a girl's career over THIS?"
Edits started appearing, slowing the video down, circling details people hadn't noticed before.
"Ni-kiâs still walking towards her after she pushes him."
"She looks more upset than angry."
"We judged Y/N way too quickly."
"Bring her back already."
"She served a four month hiatus over a tiny shove??"
"Free Y/N."
"Replay doesn't feel complete without her. We miss our main dancer :("
The company went back and forth behind closed doors.
Managers from met with Riki several times to discuss how contact between you and him should go if you came back.
Emails were constantly being exchanged with Replayâs management. Rules were made. No interviews about the breakup, no public interaction unless approved, no mentioning the scandal. No dating rumors. Just move on.
Four months of no performances, no interviews, no seeing Riki.
And now, only a week after your return, management had decided the best possible way to prove to the public that there were no hard feelingsâŚÂ was to lock the two of you in a dance practice room and have you film a dance collaboration.
"Show the public you two are fine."
â
You walk over to one side of the mirrored wall, setting your phone and water bottle on the floor before sitting down to stretch. One leg folded underneath you while the other extends out, your fingertips reaching toward your shoe.
Then Riki clears his throat. He isnât looking at you anymore, his elbows rest on his knees as he stares at the floor.
"...I'm really sorry about everything. You didn't deserve any of th-â
You stop stretching for a second and cut him off.
"Don't worry about it."
He looks up. âIâm serious y/n⌠I wish we h-â
You offer him a small smile. "I'm back now. I'm fine."
"...Mhm." Thatâs all he manages to say. "Okay."
The silence immediately returns and it feels painfully awkward, so you decide to fill it.
"You changed your hair."
He instinctively runs a hand through it, the bracelets around his wrist softly clinking together.
"Oh." A small grin appeared. "Yeah."
The last time you saw him it was long and blonde, now its shorter and darker, kind of brown-ish.
He ruffles it again before looking back at you and his smile becomes a little more nervous.
"You like it?"
You look at him for a second. Then simply shrug one shoulder and give him a small nod, nothing too much.
"...Yeah."
He smiles. "Thank you."
Before the conversation could awkwardly die again, you push yourself off the floor, dust off your sweatpants and walk towards the center of the practice room. You glance at the huge mirror in front of you before looking over your shoulder at him.
You clapped your hands together once.
"Shall we start?"
The first hour of practice was very quiet. The only thing filling the room was the song over and over. The same thirty seconds replayed until you got every single step perfect.
Neither of you talked unless it was necessary.
"Five, six, seven, eight."
"Again."
"You were half a count late."
"My bad."
"Let's go."
That was it. Just mirrors, sweat, music and counting.
The choreography itself wasn't difficult, it was just precise. Every step had to land at exactly the same moment. You were both main dancers for a reason.
After almost an hour, Riki suddenly stops moving.
"Nah..."
He exhales sharply, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. "It's hot as hell in here."
He walks toward the chair in the corner. His hoodie comes off in one smooth motion before he throws it over the backrest, leaving only the black tank top underneath. Silver chains rest against his collarbones, his hair already sticking slightly to his forehead from sweat.
He walks over to the air conditioning unit on the wall and presses the temperature down a few degrees.
"There." He sighed in satisfaction. "Way better."
Walking back toward the speaker, he presses play again and looks at you through the mirror.
"Ready?"
You nod and he counts. "Five... six... seven... eight."
You both move at the exact same time. Your bodies slip into the choreography automatically. Muscle memory, years of training.
You catch your own reflection, then his. Your eyes stay there longer than they should.
It feels strange. Four months without seeing each other, pure silence, convincing yourself everything between you had changed.
Yet somehow, the moment the music starts, your bodies still move together like they always had. Every turn and step matched. The realization made something tighten in your chest.
You miss a count, your eyes still on his reflection instead of your own.
"...Wait."
You stop dancing.
"Can we stop for a sec?"
Riki immediately reaches over and pauses the music.
"What happened?"
You rub the back of your neck.
"This part..." You look at your feet. "I can't get the footwork right."
He looked down for a second before nodding.
"Oh. It's..."
He steps into position and demonstrates it slowly.
"This foot first. And then your weight goes here."
He repeats it again.
"You keep putting your weight on the wrong leg."
You watch carefully. "Oh..."
"See?"
He does it one last time. "It's easier if you don't think about your upper body yet."
You copy him. "...Like this?"
"Almost."
He steps closer and points at your foot. âNo, this one.â
You adjust it.
"Yeah." He smiled. "That's it."
âOkay.â You laughed quietly. âThank you.â
He nods and walks back to his spot.
"Again?"
The music starts. This time you made it a little further. Thenâ
"Wait. Sorry." You frowned. "Again."
Riki didn't complain. "Okay."
You got through the first half, then stumbled.
"...Stop for a sec."
Click. The music stops.
"My bad."
Again, and again, and again. By the fifth restart, you let out a frustrated groan.
"Can we do it one more time?"
Riki clicks his tongue. "Y/N. You were fine."
"I wasn't."
"You were."
"I messed up."
"It wasn't noticeable."
"It was to me."
He sighed through his nose. "Just keep going."
"We're filming this."
"I know."
"So I want it right."
"It is right."
You roll your eyes before walking straight past him towards the speaker and stop the music.
Riki closes his eyes for a second, dragging a hand down his face before rubbing the back of his neck.
"...Seriously?"
"I wanna try again."
He looks at you for a long second before letting out another sigh.
"Y/N."
You don't look at him. He lets out a small sigh. "You're stressing yourself out too much."
Your hand stays on the speaker, waiting for him to continue.
"It's just a dance challenge."
The words hit a nerve instantly. You slowly turn around.
"âŚTo you, maybe."
Riki frowns.
You laugh once. "To you, it's just a dance challenge."
"For me?" You gesture around the practice room. "This is my first appearance after disappearing for months. My first time people are gonna see me again."
You shake your head. "If I mess this up once, they'll tear me apart again. They'll say I lost my skills, and that I shouldn't have come back."
You look him straight in the eyes.
"So no, itâs not just a dance challenge. I have to do this perfectly."
Then you quietly add,
"And it doesn't exactly help that they paired me up with you."
His eyebrows pull together immediately.
"...What's that supposed to mean?"
You scoff. "Come on, seriously? You wanna act like nothing happened?"
His jaw tightens. "Oh, iâm not the one acting, y/n."
"No?"
"No." He takes a step closer. "You're the one acting. And a great fucking actress you are."
Your jaw drops and you scoff, ready to fire something back but he cuts you off before you can.
"I literally apologized the second you walked in, but you cut me off. I tried talking about it, you cut me off again."
You fold your arms. "I don't need your apology. It's not like you gave a shit before."
His head snaps up. "Don't say that."
"Why?"
"Because it's not true."
You scoff. "You don't know half the shit I've been through these past months."
"I know enough."
"No, you don't."
"I do." He runs an irritated hand through his hair. "I talked to the managers."
You let out a sarcastic laugh. "Sure."
"I did. They wouldn't let me contact you."
"Oh please. Donât lie to me. You blocked me on everything!" The words echo through the room.
Riki exhales sharply.
"Come on y/n. I blocked you right after we broke up, i was angry. I know it was childish, but I was pissed."
You shake your head in disbelief. "And after that? You could've unblocked me? You could've texted, you could've asked if I was okay."
"I wasn't allowed."
"Bullshit."
His voice rises. "I argued with management! I told them you didn't deserve the hate, I told them you barely even fucking touched me! They told me to stay out of it because it'd make everything worse!"
You stare at him. You hesitate, then you look away again.
"Whatever, Ni-ki."
His expression changes immediately. "Don't."
You frown. "What?"
"Don't call me that."
His voice is lower now. "It's Riki to you."
You raise an eyebrow. "Is it?"
He says nothing. You give a bitter little smile. "We're coworkers now. You said it yourself."
"This is work. So professionally..." You shrug. "You're Ni-ki."
He clenches his jaw. "I hate it when you call me that."
You give him one last glance. "Let's just get this over with."
Five, six, seven, eight.
You start again. The choreography you've already repeated dozens of times, but everything is off.
Your heart isn't in it anymore. Your mind keeps replaying the argument. The counts blur together, you miss another step, ignore it, keep going.
Riki notices you're a fraction behind, but he doesn't say anything. He just adjusts without thinking, like he always used to.
You reach the chorus. Turn, stepâ A sharp pain suddenly shoots through your calf.
"Ah!"
You immediately stop moving, grabbing the back of your leg. You sink down onto the wooden floor with a groan.
"Shit..."
The music is off instantly, Riki is already halfway across the room.
"What happened?" He crouches down in front of you. "You okay?"
You squeeze your eyes shut, both hands gripping your calf.
"...Yeah." A pained exhale leaves you. "I'm fine."
Another cramp shoots through the muscle. "...Fuck."
He watches you rubbing desperately at the back of your leg. "I told you you're stressing yourself out too much. We should've taken a break."
You shake your head. "It's just..." You wince again. "...a cramp."
He nods toward your leg. "Can you stand?"
"I think so." You plant one foot on the floor, but the second you put weight on itâ
"...Ow." You wince.
Riki immediately reaches toward you. He slips one arm around your back and another underneath your arm. "Lean on me."
You hesitate, then reluctantly let him help you up. The moment your foot touches the floor again, another sting shoots through your calf.
You hiss through your teeth. "I think... I think I strained something."
"Easy." His hand automatically settles against your waist to steady you. "Don't rush."
The two of you slowly make your way toward the corner of the practice room.
He helps you lower yourself onto the floor before sitting beside you with a quiet sigh. You keep kneading your calf with both hands in silence, hoping the muscle will finally relax.
Beside you, Riki twists open his water bottle and the plastic crackles. He takes a long drink before glancing sideways at you.
"...Want me to massage it?"
You don't even look up. "No. Itâs just a cramp."
"I know."
"I'll be fine."
He shakes his head and chuckles quietly. "Câmon.. I'm not asking to kiss you or something."
The joke slips out suddenly.Â
Your hands stop moving and your eyes immediately lift to his. Neither of you says anything, you just look at each other.
You quickly clear your throat and look back at your leg.
"...Fine." A quiet sigh leaves you. "Go ahead."
He puts his water bottle down.
"Give me your leg."
You slide it a little closer. Carefully, he rolls your grey sweatpants up to just below your knee, exposing your calf.
His fingers wrap gently around the muscle. "Tell me if it hurts."
"It already hurts."
Then he starts slowly massaging the tight muscle between both his hands. His hands are warm and soft on your skin, and it feels stupidly familiar.
He continues massaging your calf in silence, the music paused, the only sounds coming from the air conditioner humming above you and Riki's hands slowly working the tension out of your calf.
The pain has already eased a little. You watch his hands for a moment before quietly speaking.
"...I'm sorry."
He looks up. "Hm?"
"For earlier."
You fiddle with the ring on your middle finger. "I kinda snapped at you."
A small, awkward laugh leaves you. "I... didn't know you actually tried talking to the managers."
Rikiâs hands don't stop moving. He shakes his head. "It's okay."
He smiles faintly. "You couldn't have known."
He shrugs one shoulder. "I wasn't exactly able to tell you."
You let out a slow breath. "I still shouldn't have said all that."
He looks at you for a second before returning his attention to your calf.
"I said things too."
"Yeah, you did."
"...Iâm sorry."
You smile despite yourself and the tension between you eases just a little.
Neither of you notices that his massage has slowly changed. Heâs not massaging anymore, his fingertips drift lazily over your leg instead, tracing slow lines against your skin while the conversation continues. He's not even thinking about it, neither are you.
His eyes stay on your leg for a second before quietly saying,
"...I never wanted our relationship to end."
Your smile fades a little.
He lets out a breathy laugh. "You really broke my heart."
He says it almost jokingly, smiling as he looks up at you. You meet his eyes. You smile, but guilt still sneaks onto your face.
"I'm sorry⌠I think." You look down at your hands with a faint smile.
He watches you for a moment before giving a small shrug.
"Learned our lesson."
You nod slowly. You look at each other for a little, Riki is the first to break the silence.
He gives your leg two light pats.
"There. You good now?"
You gently flex your ankle. The pain is almost gone.
"...Mostly."
You lean back against the mirror with a sigh.
"I wanna sit for another few minutes, okay?"
He nods. "No problem."
Pushing himself up from the floor, he grabs his water bottle and takes another sip.
"I'll keep practicing."
Still smiling to himself, he walks back toward the center of the practice room. You stay seated on the floor when he walks away.
Your calf still aches a little, so you keep absent-mindedly rubbing circles into the muscle while scrolling through your phone with your other hand. Every now and then you take another bite of your protein bar.
The room fills with music again. Your eyes keep drifting away from your phone, to Riki. At first it's just quick glances, checking how far he is into the choreography.
Eventually you stop pretending heâs not all you want to look at. Your phone rests forgotten in your lap, you simply watch him. He hasn't changed, he's still ridiculously good.
Every movement is so clean it looks effortless. His shoulders roll smoothly, the muscles in his arms flex every time he throws them through the air. His footwork is still stupidly precise, and the little expressions he makes while dancing, his brows pulling together, the tiny smirk whenever he nails something, the way he'd mouth the lyrics without realizing it.Â
You recognize it all. You had just forgotten how much fun he was to watch.
Riki notices just in the corner of his eye. His heart immediately starts beating a little faster.Â
Without meaning to, He puts more energy into every detail. Because a part of him still wants to impress you, maybe then youâll remember why you liked him.
When the song finishes, he lets out an exaggerated groan.
"Fuck..."
He bends over dramatically, hands on his knees, breathing way louder than necessary.
"This shitâs exhausting."
You don't even look up from your phone this time.
"Mhm."
He shoots you a look. He sighs like the world is ending before standing back up.
"I'm dying over here."
"You'll survive."
"I don't know..."
He says before grabbing the hem of his tank top.
"So hot."
He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the bottom of it, lifting the fabric high enough to reveal toned abs, the dark tattoo stretching along his side⌠and just above the waistband of his sweatpants, the tiny kiss tattoo, your lips, sitting on his V-line.Â
You see it. Riki glances down before looking back at you with the tiniest grin.
You grab your empty water bottle.Â
"You're embarrassing yourself."Â You say, then you throw the bottle at him.
He catches it against his chest with both hands.
"But you gotta admitâŚ"
He tilts his head.
"âŚyou missed seeing this a little"
You look at him with a stale face for a second before looking back at your phone. Youâre not admitting that.Â
Riki shakes his head to himself, still smiling, before tossing your water bottle into the bin beside the mirror.
"Come on."
He walks over to you with that stupid smug grin that always means he's about to annoy you.
Stopping right in front of where you're sitting, he holds both hands out toward you.
"Ready?"
You glance up at him.
"Last run." He wiggles his fingers. "Let's go."
You stare at his hands for a second before waving them away.
"I can get up myself."
He clicks his tongue. He motions with his fingers again.
You look up at him with the most stubborn expression you can manage. He stares right back. You sigh loudly and place your hands in his.
The second your fingers wrap around his, he pulls. He pulls harder than neccesary which makes you lose your balance immediately. Stumbling forward, bumping straight into his chest. He catches you by your forearms to stop you from falling against completely.
His grin is impossible to ignore.
"My bad."
He doesn't sound sorry whatsoever. You narrow your eyes.
"I slightly underestimated my strength."
"Mhm."
You poke a finger against the middle of his chest. He looks down at your finger and then back at you.
"I know what youâre doing Riki, youâre not slick. And itâs time to stop."
You walk past him toward the center of the room. He follows, and the music starts. The choreography goes amazingly well now that youâve taken a break, and the tension between you has eased up.
When music finally cuts off you both stay where you are for a few seconds, breathing hard, hands on your hips.
You wipe the sweat from your forehead before looking at him. "...We did it."
Riki lets out a breathy laugh. He lifts both hands and you slap both palms against his.
Instead of letting go, though, his fingers immediately slide between yours. He interlocks your fingers and gently pulls you a step closer.
You're close enough now that you can see the sweat clinging to the strands of hair on his forehead.
He smiles. "You did really good." He sounds genuine this time.
You can't help smiling back. "So did you."
His grin grows.
"So..." He tilts his head. "Can I get a kiss as a reward?"
You immediately giggle. "No."
He doesn't let go.Â
"Hm. How about..." He pretends to think. "...an 'I missed you' kiss?"
"No."
"'Welcome back' kiss?"
You shake your head, still smiling. "Nope."
"You sure?"
"Mhm."
"You don't even wanna think about it?"
"No. Ni-ki.â
He chuckles under his breath. âDonât call me that.â
You gently press a hand against his chest and push him back to break the moment.
"Greedy."
"I had to try."
You shake your head with another laugh before turning away.
"I'm getting my bag."
He watches you walk toward the corner of the room.
He smiles to himself. He walks over to his own bag, stuffing his charger, water bottle and headphones inside before pulling his hoodie back over his head. You zip up your duffel bag at the same time.
The two of you walk toward the door together.
You grab the handle first and pull it open. Then... you stop. Riki almost walks into your back.
You glance into the hallway and hesitate. Without saying anything, you slowly pull the door shut again.
Riki raises an eyebrow. "What?"
"You should come out after me."
"...Why?"
"So people don't start talking."
He looks at you for a second before giving a tiny shrug.
"They're gonna know we did the collab anyway."
"I know."
"So?"
"I just..." You sigh. "I don't want people making up stuff again."
He studies your face, then quietly says, "...I don't really care."
"I do."
You point at him.
"At least put your hood up."
He lets out a small laugh. "Y/n.. Itâll be okay."
You slowly open the door again and you both step into the hallway.
For a few seconds you walk side by side in silence. Then you glance over and his hood is still down.
You let out an annoyed sigh. "Riki, just..."
You reach up and fingers catch the edge of his hood and gently pull it over his hair.
Riki looks down at you and a quiet chuckle escapes him. He leaves the hood on.
You reach the lobby and the evening sun shines through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. A few staff members walk past outside, and a security guard stands near the doors, barely paying attention.
You're only a few steps away from the exit when Riki suddenly catches your wrist.
"Y/n."
Before you can react, he gently tugs you sideways.
"What are you doing?"
He guides you around the corner beside the entrance, where one of the concrete pillars blocks you from most of the lobby.
"Riki," you whisper, laughing nervously. "What are you doing?"
He plants one hand against the wall beside your head, then he peeks around the corner toward the glass doors like he's checking something.
His lips slowly curl into a smile. You immediately recognize that smile.
"Riki weâre-"
He chuckles. "Kiss me."
You stare at him. "What?"
"Just one." He shrugs like he's asking for a sip of your drink. "One kiss."
You immediately start laughing, but panic creeps into your voice too.
"Are you serious? Thereâs windows everywhere."
"I know."Â
He reaches up and pulls his hood down himself, fixing his hair with one hand.
You stare at him, he just smiles.
"Come on."
"No."
"Y/n."
"Riki, seriouslyâ"
"One."
"RikiâŚâ
He tilts his head.
"Please."
You sigh, smile and stop protesting. He takes it as a yes.
He immediately cups your face with one hand. His thumb brushes your cheek once and then he leans in.
The kiss only lasts a few seconds. Quick enough that anyone looking away for a moment would miss it, but knowing your fans, they wonât miss something like this.
And itâs exactly what he wants.
He wants people to see. He wants someone across the street to recognize him, he wants the blurry slowed down videos. He wants the dating rumors, the reporters asking about you, wondering if you're together again.
He wants a chance to have you back.
@ idolsdaily
đ¨ ENHYPEN's Ni-ki and REPLAY's Y/n caught kissing inside HYBE after her hiatus.
Just one week after REPLAY's Y/n returned from her four-month hiatus, fans claim they spotted Ni-ki (ENHYPEN) and Y/n sharing what looked like a kiss inside the HYBE building.
The sighting comes shortly after HYBE announced a dance collaboration between the two idols.
Neither HYBE, BELIFT LAB, nor REPLAY's management has commented.
I think it would start when Jake starts to pick up on your obsession with his hands. He notices how you tend to stare at them alot and how when youâre sitting on his lap you love to play with them and compare how small your hands are compared to his . ( yes jake would def have a thing for size dif)
He also noted how easily you come undone around his long fingers. Moaning and crying in the immense pleasure. He could genuinely have you overstimulated from just his hands & fingers alone. He loves to tease you with them. Simply running them down your thighs to get a reaction out of you.
He didnât realize youâd be into sucking on them until one night. He was fucking you so good. Your legs over his broad shoulders, while his thick girthy cock splits you open. You were so blissed out, moaning , whimpering and holding onto the bed sheets like they were the only thing anchoring your body to the bed. âYouâre doing so good for me babyâ he said as he slid his veiny hand around your neck nestling it there and squeezing, not enough to cut off your air, but just enough for you to really feel him there.
âJ-jakeâŚâ you moan, â I canât take it anymoreâŚ. t-too much.. too goodâŚâ He looks down at your tear stained face with so much love and care, contrast to his harsh thrusts into you. â Shhh baby, you can take it for me babygirl. I know you can. My strong, big girl yeah?â You nod, too fucked out to disagree, just really wanting to make your Jakey proud :( .
â Here baby, suckâ he says while moving his hand from your clit and sliding two of his long veiny fingers right into your warm, wet mouth. You gladly welcome them in sucking them. â There she is, my good girl. Cum one more time for me baby then weâre done okay? Can you do that for me?â You nod, mouth still around his fingers, looking up at him, your eyes wide and teary. He brings you to your 4th(?) ( you honestly lost count ) orgasm of the night. After you calm down from the aftershocks he pulls out and begins aftercare ( he is an aftercare king) wiping you down and telling you how good you were for him and how much he loves you.
After,he pulls you against his chest, rubbing his hand up and down your back. â You did so well baby, Iâm so proud of youâ he says as he presses soft kisses on your face. â I love you too jae..â
â I can tell you love my fingers too,hm?â â maybe..? theyâre just really nice to look at and.. suck on..â
He laughs, stroking your hair softly, â I figured baby, donât worry I think itâs adorableâ
an: this was so ass, but itâs my first time actually writing so bear w međ anyways i need him to finger me asapđ¤¤đ¤¤
a lot of people have been requesting ni-ki twt links so here they are!! pls look at the warning below and proceed with caution. also used riki instead of ni-ki incase people actually care abt that (hope you donât).. thereâs ur warning lol!!!
cw: links contain real porn, please watch with caution. mixes of soft and hard kinks <3
âŕż NISHIMURA RIKI LINKS
𦹠riki loves fucking older women just because he can show them that he may be younger and have less experience but his dick is big and he knows how to use it and use you.
𦹠riki loves loves loves tying you up. the thrill he gets from seeing you struggle while heâs fucking you. bonus if you have a blindfold on because it makes you more sensitive when he touches and sucks on your nipples.
𦹠when riki gets tired nobody knows why but he immediately gets horny. like riding him til he cums is mandatory before he goes to sleep, or else heâll wake up in the middle of the night and not go back to sleep (which isnât good).
𦹠engene have been trying to figure out rikis pre-show ritual for the longest time. to bad only you know what it is. how he his face in your ass while the others are practicing choreo.
𦹠riki using his long fingers to stretch you before you take him because he knows heâs big and he wonât ever shut up about it. all cocky and annoying. he just has to mention how cute you long split open in front of him, ass and pussy out for only him.
𦹠making out with riki is literally the best thing ever. he always knows how to make you cum off kissing alone. grinding on his all while his hands are at the back of your neck, pushing you more and more into the kiss, until it gets super deep.
𦹠when riki eats you out he almost immediately gets pussy drunk. not able to hold in his deep moans, because you just taste so good on his tongue. trying to hurry and get you to cum so he can lick you clean.
𦹠riki 100% has a breeding kink and you donât know how you never noticed. canât even mention the thought of MAYBE having a kid with him in the future because heâs immediately on top of you asking how many times you want him to cum inside and make your supposed dreams come true.
synopsis: rikiâs dangerously low sweatpants and deliberate teasing push you to the edge. when he dares to expose more, you take control, dropping to your knees to silence his gamesâŚ
now playing: âlooseâ by enhypenÂ
solâs note: there's a photo of ni-ki from the concert circulating around here on tumblr and i decided to make one for it. bruhh my boi almost show his dihh đ
Riki was pacing back and forth in the living room. He wore a black tank top that clung to his defined shoulders and chest, the fabric stretched tight over his muscles, but it was the lower half of him that was causing the real distraction for you. A pair of loose gray sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips, secured only by the sharp jut of his hip bones. Every time he took a step, the waistband dipped, revealing the elastic trim of his black Calvin Klein boxers.
He stopped in front of the full-body mirror, admiring his physique. You watched over the rim of your book, breath catching in your throat as he lifted the hem of his tank top. His hand slipped underneath, palm flattening against his stomach as he rubbed his abs, his fingers tracing the ridges of muscle with slow, deliberate pressure. The movement caused the shirt to rise further, exposing the intricate ink of the tattoos running along his side waist, leading the eye down to the deep, sharp cut of his v-line.
It was criminal to look at but he is your boyfriend anyways. Those damn sweatpants were insanely bad to your sanity, swaying loosely with every shift of his weight, threatening to slide right off his frame.
You weren't even pretending to read anymore. The book lay forgotten, your gaze fixed on the reflection in the mirror, tracking the path of his hand as it drifted lower, fingers toying with the waistband of his pants.
"Done checking me out?" Rikiâs teasing voice cut through the silence.
He met your eyes in the mirror, a smirk playing on his lips. You blinked, caught red-handed, and quickly snapped your gaze back down to the page you hadn't turned in ten minutes. Oh.
"In your dreams," you shot back, rolling your eyes, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed you.
Riki just chuckled, turning his back from you as he walked toward the kitchen. "Whatever you say, babe."
You tried to focus on the text, forcing your brain to process the sentences, but it was useless. The image of his hand on his skin engraved in your mind. A moment later, the fridge door opened and closed, and he walked back into the living room.
If you thought the pants were low before, it was nothing compared to now. The gray fabric had slipped another inch, the waistband sitting precariously low, exposing the sharp definition of his hip bones. He stopped in front of you, holding a glass of water in his right hand.
"Babe, do you have other pants? Do you want me to buy one for you?" you asked, pointing out his loose sweatpants. You were genuinely concerned he didn't own clothes that actually fit him anymore.
He lowered the glass, wiping a droplet of water from his lower lip with his thumb. "Nah, I'm good babe. Besides, this is a trend nowadays." He smiled, that infuriatingly handsome, knowing smile, before tilting his head back to finish the water.
Your eyes traced the column of his throat as he swallowed, watching the bob of his Adam's apple. The sharp line of his jaw tensed and relaxed, the side profile illuminated by the afternoon light streaming through the window. He looked so manly, so effortlessly gorgeous by just standing there.
Riki stepped closer, coming to a stop just on the other side of the coffee table. You stared at the waistband of his sweatpants, the way they clung to nothing but air, the elastic band of his boxers clearly visible.
"Riki, pull it up. I swear. You're about to show your ass you know?" you said, your voice tinged with irritation, though it was mostly frustration at how badly you wanted to touch him.
"No. I'm not. Why are you bothered?" He teased, wiggling his eyebrows up and down flirting at you.
"Stop. There's nothing funny. I just don't want you to expose what's mine," you blurted out. The words hung in the air, heavy and possessive. You felt your face flush hot by your sudden confession.
"Possessive are we?" he chuckled, stepping closer to the edge of the table, enjoying your flustered state.
Instead of fixing his pants, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and tugged them lower, deliberately slow. The gray fabric slid down his thighs, and the outline of his bulge became unmistakably visible, pressing against the front of his boxers.
"What about this?" He laughed, wiggling his eyebrows again, tugging the pants up and down in a rhythmic, mocking motion.
That was it.
You slammed your book shut, the loud thud echoing through the living room. Riki jumped slightly, his eyes widening in surprise at the sudden noise. You didn't say a word. You stood up, the book abandoned on the cushion, and walked around the coffee table until you were standing right in front of him.
Without breaking eye contact, you dropped to your knees. The carpet cushioned your descent as you settled between his legs. He spun around to face you, the movement bringing his crotch level with your face, the heavy outline of his cock inches from your nose.
"W-what is this?" he stammered, as he looked down at you.
"I don't play games, Riki. I'll pull it down for you," you smirked, craning your neck back to look up at him.
He inhaled sharply, his chest heaving as you reached out. You palmed his clothed member, feeling the heat radiating through the cotton, the weight of him filling your hand. You ran your hands up to the waistband of his sweatpants, fingers curling around the elastic, and slowly tugged them down.
He helped you, kicking the gray fabric away impatiently. You immediately reached for the black Calvin Klein boxers, dragging them down his thighs. His cock sprang free, slapping lightly against your cheek as it escaped the fabric. It stood up hard and thick, the tip already glistening with pre-cum, ready for your touch.
You wrapped your hand around the base, feeling the pulse of blood beneath the velvety skin. You stroked him gently, squeezing slightly as you moved your hand up and down. A breathy groan tore from Rikiâs throat, his head falling back.
"Fuck," he hissed.
You leaned in, spitting directly onto the head of his cock, letting your saliva mix with the pre-cum. You showed him your tongue, swirling it teasingly before you took him inside your warm, wet mouth. You kept your eyes locked on his face, watching his expression contort with pleasure as you bobbed your head, taking him deeper with every pass.
"F-fuck baby. Your mouth feels good around my dick," he moaned, his hands tangling in your hair, fingers gripping the strands to guide you.
You tightened your palm around the base of his shaft, stroking him in time with the movements of your mouth. You sucked hard, your cheeks hollowing out, focusing on the sensitive ridge just below the head. You could feel every vein on your tongue, the texture of him dragging against the soft wetness of your mouth as he slid deeper.
"Keep going pleaseâ" Riki pleaded, his hips buckling forward, pushing your head down, wanting more.
He looked down at you, unable to look away. The sight of his big cock stuffed in your mouth, your pink lips stretched tight around him, was intoxicating. Your mouth glistened with the mixture of your saliva and his dripping pre-cum, strands of it connecting your lips to his shaft as you pulled back. The warmth of your mouth and the wetness of your tongue were sending him to cloud nine, and he knew he was the luckiest man alive to have you on your knees like this.
"You're so pretty around me. Ahhâ" he moaned, as he began to fuck your mouth faster.
You gagged around him, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat, but you didn't pull away. You gripped his hips harder, your nails digging into his skin to steady yourself as he thrust into your mouth, losing control.
"Please! Please! Please! D-don't stopâŚ" he begged, his voice wrecked.
Rikiâs eyes drifted to the side, catching the reflection in the full-body mirror. The visual was filthy and perfectâhe could see the way his cock disappeared fast in and out of your pretty mouth, the way your head bobbed furiously as he held your hair in a makeshift ponytail. He groaned again, the reflection in front of him pushing him closer to the edge.
"I'm gonna cumângh," he breathed out, his rhythm turning erratic as he continued to fuck your mouth, chasing his release.
You felt him swell in your mouth, getting heavier and fuller. You knew he was close. You released one hand from his hip and reached down to cup his balls, massaging them gently, rolling them in your palm to help him get there faster.
"ShitâF-fuck babyâŚ" he cried out.
He came hard, his hips jerking forward as he buried himself deep in your throat. You felt the warm, salty flood of his seeds dripping inside your throat, coating your tongue. You swallowed around him, desperate to take it all, but there was too much. Some of it escaped the seal of your lips, dripping out of the corner of your mouth and running down your chin, landing straight onto your cleavage, staining the white lace camisole you wore.
Riki stood there for a moment, chest heaving, before he slowly pulled his softening cock from your mouth. He looked down at you, his face flushed with post-orgasmic bliss. He reached out, bringing his thumb to your chin to wipe the semen dripping from your lip. Without hesitation, he brought his thumb to your mouth, pushing it past your lips. You sucked it obediently, swirling your tongue around the digit, making wet, lewd noises as you cleaned him off.
He pulled his thumb free, the wet sound echoing in the quiet room. Then, he dropped to his knees in front of you, ignoring the hardness of the floor. He grabbed the nape of your neck and kissed you harshly, his tongue plunging into your mouth to taste himself on your tongue. It was a messy and possessive kiss.
Riki pulled back, a soft, genuine smile gracing his lips. He reached down, taking your hands from your thighs and placing them back on his semi-hard cock, which twitched at the friction of your touch.
"I will definitely wear more loose pants from now on," he said, his voice husky and sincere.
He wasn't fooling around.
You smiled back at him, your fingers tracing the length of him. Good thing you loved it.
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, MINORS DNI!, rough sex, mating press, creampie, unprotected sex (dont be dumb), sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, possessive behavior, power imbalance, strong language, praise kink, light degradation, marking, overstimulation.
The city lights blurred past the tinted windows of Jayâs sleek black Maybach as it glided through Seoulâs nighttime streets. You shifted against the buttery leather seat, the shopping bags at your feet rustling softlyâDior, Chanel, Cartier. Another night, another fortune spent on you.
Jayâs hand rested possessively on your thigh, fingers tracing lazy circles over the expensive silk dress heâd bought you an hour ago. âYou look good in that color,â he murmured, voice low and smooth like aged whiskey. âBut I canât wait to see it on the floor.â
Your breath hitched. This was the arrangement youâd fallen into three months ago: Jay Park, wealthy heir and successful businessman, took care of you completely. Designer clothes, a luxury apartment in the heart of the city, and a black card with no limit. In return, you were hisâwhenever he wanted, however he wanted.
The car stopped at his private penthouse. Jay didnât wait for the driver; he opened the door himself and offered his hand like a perfect gentleman. But the moment the elevator doors closed behind you two, the gentleman disappeared.
He pushed you against the mirrored wall, mouth crashing onto yours. The kiss was hungry, demanding. His tongue slid against yours while his hand slipped under your dress, fingers brushing the lace panties heâd chosen earlier.
âJayâŚâ you gasped as he pressed a thigh between your legs.
âBeen thinking about this all day,â he growled against your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point. âImagining how wet youâd be by the time I got my hands on you.â
The elevator dinged. He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you inside. The penthouse was all floor-to-ceiling windows, soft lighting, and minimalist luxury. He didnât bother with the bedroom. Instead, he set you down on the wide marble island in the kitchen, the cool stone making you shiver.
âSpread your legs for me, baby.â
You obeyed, heart racing. Jay stepped back, eyes dark as he drank you inâdress hiked up, hair messy from his hands, lips swollen. He shrugged off his tailored black jacket, unbuttoned the top of his crisp white shirt, revealing the sharp collarbones and smooth chest you loved marking.
He dropped to his knees.
âFuck, Jayââ Your hands flew to his hair as he pushed your panties aside and dragged his tongue up your slit in one slow, filthy stroke. He groaned at your taste, like heâd been starving for it. Two long fingers pushed inside you without warning, curling perfectly against that spot that made your thighs shake.
âLook at you,â he murmured against your clit, sucking lightly before flicking his tongue faster. âSoaking my fingers already. My pretty little sugar baby gets wet just from shopping, huh?â
You moaned, hips rolling against his face. He ate you out like a man possessedâmessy, eager, completely focused on your pleasure. The wet sounds echoed obscenely in the open space. When he added a third finger and sucked hard on your clit, you came with a sharp cry, thighs clamping around his head.
Jay rose, wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand. That cocky smirk made your stomach flip.
 âGood girl. But Iâm not done with you.â
He pulled you off the counter and turned you around, bending you over it. The sound of his belt buckle sent a fresh wave of heat through you. You heard the zipper, then felt the thick head of his cock rubbing between your folds, teasing your entrance.
âTell me what you want,â he said, voice rough. One hand gripped your hip, the other fisted your hair gently but firmly.
âYou,â you breathed. âPlease, Jay. Fuck me.â
He thrust in deep in one smooth stroke, stretching you open. A broken moan left your lips. He was bigâthick and long enough to make you feel deliciously full every single time. He started moving, hips snapping against your ass with controlled power.
âShit, youâre so tight,â he groaned, watching where he disappeared inside you. âTaking my cock so well. This pussy was made for me.â
The slap of skin on skin filled the penthouse. He reached around to rub your clit, driving you toward another orgasm while pounding into you harder. Your breasts pressed against the cool marble, nipples hard. Every thrust pushed you forward, making you grip the edge of the counter.
âJayâahâtoo deepââ
âYou can take it,â he growled, leaning over you so his chest pressed to your back. His lips brushed your ear. âYouâll take everything I give you tonight. Gonna fill you up until youâre dripping.â
You came again, clenching around him so hard he cursed. Jay pulled out suddenly, making you whine at the emptiness. He spun you around, lifted you back onto the island, and pushed back inside in one smooth thrust.
âWant to see your face when I cum,â he said, forehead pressed to yours.
His pace turned punishing for a few minutes before he slowed, eyes gleaming with a new idea. He grabbed your thighs and pushed them up, folding you neatly in half until your knees pressed against your chest. The mating press position left you completely exposed and helpless beneath him.
âOh my godââ you gasped at the new angle. He sank even deeper, the head of his cock pressing right against your most sensitive spot with every thrust.
Jay groaned, the sound low and primal. âFuck, look at you. Folded so nicely for me.â He braced his hands on either side of your head, muscles flexing as he drove down into you with long, powerful strokes. The position made everything tighter, deeper, more intense. Every thrust made your breasts bounce and forced broken moans from your throat.
âJayâtoo muchâahh!â you cried, nails digging into his shoulders.
âYou can take it,â he panted, sweat glistening on his forehead. âGonna fuck you so deep youâll feel me for days.â His hips snapped harder, the sound of skin slapping wetly against skin growing louder. He leaned down, folding you even more as he captured your lips in a messy kiss.
The pressure built fast. With your legs pinned and his cock hitting that perfect spot relentlessly, your orgasm crashed over you violently. You clenched around him, vision whitening as you came hard.
âThatâs it, baby. Squeeze my cock,â Jay growled. A few more deep, brutal thrusts and he buried himself to the hilt, groaning your name as he came. You felt every thick pulse as he filled you up, hot and endless.
He stayed inside you for a long moment, both of you catching your breath. Slowly, he lowered your legs, but kept them wrapped around his waist as he kissed you softly.
âStill with me?â he asked, voice gentler now.
You nodded, dazed and satisfied. Jay eventually pulled out, watching with dark satisfaction as his release trickled down your thigh. He scooped you up and carried you to the luxurious bathroom. The massive shower turned on with a touch, warm water cascading over both of you as he stripped the rest of his clothes.
Under the spray, he was careful. He washed your body with gentle hands, massaging shampoo into your hair.Â
âYou okay?â he asked, pressing a kiss to your temple.
âMore than okay,â you whispered.
After drying you off, he carried you to his king-sized bed and pulled you against his chest. The city sparkled beyond the windows. Jay reached into the nightstand and pulled out a small velvet box.
âOpen it.â
Inside was a delicate gold necklace with a diamond J pendant.
âFor you,â he said, clasping it around your neck. His fingers traced the J resting between your breasts. âSo everyone knows who you belong to.â
You touched the necklace, warmth blooming in your chest. âThank you, Jay.
âHe smirked, but his eyes were soft. âDonât thank me yet. The nightâs still young.â
He rolled you beneath him again, lips trailing down your neck. His hand slid between your legs, fingers playing with the mess heâd left earlier. âStill so full of me,â he murmured proudly. âGood. I like knowing youâre walking around with my cum inside you.â
You moaned softly as he pushed two fingers back inside, slow and lazy. When he finally replaced them with his cock again, it was deep and unhurried. He held eye contact the whole time, one hand laced with yours.
âMine,â he breathed between thrusts. âAll fucking mine.â
You came whispering his name, and he followed soon after, spilling into you once more.
Later, wrapped in his silk robe and eating expensive takeout in bed, Jay watched you with that signature half-smile.
âYou know this isnât just about the money, right?â he said, feeding you a piece of wagyu. âI like having you here. Spoiling you. Fucking you. All of it.â
You leaned in and kissed him. âI know.â
He pulled you into his lap, the robe falling open. âRide me this time,â he commanded softly, hands gripping your ass. âWant to watch my pretty sugar baby take what she needs.â
You sank down onto him slowly, moaning at the stretch. Jayâs head fell back, eyes half-lidded in pleasure as you began to move. His hands guided your hips, occasionally sliding up to play with your breasts or tug gently at the diamond J around your neck.
The pace quickened until you both came again, collapsing together in a satisfied tangle of limbs.
Jay kissed the top of your head. âStay the night. Stay every night.â
You smiled against his skin. âIâm not going anywhere.â
ጸ đťđžđđ đżđđđžđđ˝!đđđđđđđđđ§ đťđžđđ đżđđđžđđ˝!đđžđşđ˝đžđ â â 1.2k â ËĚľá´ËĚľâ first times NSFW praise kink oral (m recieivng)ă ¤ reblogs&kisses
The summer air was thick and sticky in Sunghoonâs cramped bedroom, the only sound the hum of an old floor fan. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, a look of pure frustration etched on his handsome face. You sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against his dresser, trying to keep your expression neutral.
âItâs just⌠awkward,â he mumbled, not meeting your eyes. âEvery time it gets to that point, I freeze up. I donât know what to do with it.â A faint blush crept up his neck. Youâd been friends since middle school, had shared every secret, but this was new territory. You took a steadying breath, the unspoken truth hanging between you. Of course youâd noticed; it was hard not to when he walked out of the shower with just a towel slung low on his hips. His sheer size was intimidating, even from a purely observational standpoint.
âOkay,â you said, your voice surprisingly steady. âWeâre just problem-solving. Like we always do.â You pushed yourself up from the floor and sat beside him on the bed, the worn mattress dipping under your combined weight. The space between you felt charged, the humid air clinging to your skin. âFirst, we remove the mystery.â You kept your gaze on his face, on the nervous flicker in his dark eyes. âLet me see.â
Sunghoon exhaled sharply, a mixture of relief and fresh anxiety. His fingers fumbled with the button of his jeans, the sound loud in the quiet room. When he finally pushed the denim down his hips, the reality of him was even more staggering than the glimpses youâd stolen. He was thick and long, fully hard already, the tip flushed a deep red. He looked painfully earnest and completely lost. âSee?â he whispered, his voice rough. âItâs⌠a lot.â
âIt is,â you agreed softly, not touching him yet. You took his wrist and guided his hand to himself. âGet used to the feel of it.â You coached him through a slow, tentative stroke, your hand over his. His breath hitched, a soft groan escaping him. âThatâs it. No rush. Just get used to the sensation, to being in control of it.â
You let go, allowing him to continue on his own, watching the concentration on his face shift from panic to a dazed sort of focus. After a few moments, his rhythm faltered. âItâs not⌠I canât just do this by myself forever,â he said, frustration creeping back in. He looked at you, a silent, desperate question in his eyes.Â
âThen donât,â you murmured. You shifted closer, your thigh pressing against his. With deliberate slowness, you reached out and replaced his hand with your own. The first full touch of your skin on him made him jerk, a strangled sound catching in his throat. He was impossibly smooth and hard, the vein along the underside pulsing under your thumb. You began to move your hand up and down in a firm, measured pace, your eyes locked on his.
A sheen of sweat coated his forehead. His hands gripped the bedsheet, knuckles white. âWhat⌠what about with someone else?â he managed to ask, his gaze dropping to where your hand worked him.
âThatâs next,â you said, your own pulse thrumming. You leaned in, your breath ghosting over the wet head of his cock. âYou have to learn where itâs most sensitive.â You touched your tongue to the slit, tasting the salty pre-come there. Sunghoon cried out, his back arching off the bed. âHere,â you said before taking him into your mouth, as much as you could manage. It was a stretch, your jaw aching instantly, but you hollowed your cheeks and sucked, using your hand on the base he couldnât fit. His moans became broken, pleading things. You pulled off with a wet pop. âSee? Responsive. You just have to listen.â
You crawled up his body, settling over his hips. The damp heat of your own need pressed against the thin barrier of your shorts, meeting the solid, insistent pressure of him. You guided him with your hand, positioning him right where you ached. "This is the part that usually makes people nervous," you said, your voice low. "Itâs okay to go slow." You kept your eyes on his as you began to lower yourself, taking just the broad head of him inside. A sharp, full sensation made you pause, breathing through it. Heâs not going to fit.Â
Sunghoon's hands flew to your hips, his grip instinctive but gentle. His eyes were wide, watching where you were joined. "Okay?" he breathed out, the word strained.
"Okay," you confirmed, sinking down another inch. The stretch was intense, a burning fullness that forced a low moan from your throat. You moved in a careful, rocking rhythm, letting your body adjust to the overwhelming size of him. His hips twitched upward, seeking more, but you placed a firm hand on his stomach. "Not yet. Let me lead."
You continued the slow, grinding descent until he was fully seated inside you, a feeling of being utterly filled. Iâm full. Completely full. You stayed there, unmoving, letting the sensation settle for both of you. His chest was heaving, every muscle in his abdomen taut. "Now," you whispered, beginning to move in earnest. You rose until only the tip remained, then sank back down, setting a deep, rolling pace. His hands tightened on your hips, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he matched your rhythm, his own thrusts growing more confident, more demanding.
A low, ragged moan tore from your throat as he hit a spot deep inside that made stars burst behind your eyelids. His confidence was growing with every thrust, his movements losing their initial hesitation and gaining a raw, powerful rhythm. You braced your hands on his sweat-slicked chest, riding him with a desperate intensity now, each descent a deliberate surrender to that overwhelming fullness. The stretch had become a burning pleasure, a constant, throbbing reminder of his size that was tipping you toward the edge. You could feel your own climax coiling tight in your belly, triggered by the relentless, deep friction.
Sunghoonâs breathing was coming in harsh gasps, his eyes glazed and fixed on you. His hands slid from your hips to grip the backs of your thighs, holding you open, controlling the depth of his plunges. "Tell me," he grunted, the words strained. His voice was rough with a newfound authority. "Tell me if it's right."
Before you could form a coherent sentence, your orgasm crashed over you, a violent, clenching wave that ripped a cry from your lips. Your body clamped down around him, milking his length in rhythmic pulses. That sensation tipped him over the edge. With a choked-off shout, he drove up into you one final, searing time and held there, his release flooding you.
You collapsed forward, your forehead resting against his collarbone, both of you slick with sweat and utterly spent, feeling the rapid beat of his heart against your ear. His arms came around you, holding you close in the sticky silence. âSo,â he said after a moment, his voice quiet and a bit rough. âBest friends still?â
ŕ¨ŕ§ from ⥠đđđđđđđźâ âĽď¸ ŕ§
inspired by this fic by wonxee and my comment lol big dick hoon agenda is reallllll + this layout is inspired by katsuiki
࣪ Ë đŚšÂ°â nishimura riki âthis is so fucked."
ââ HOMEWRECKER
đŁ˛â â (đŹ) Youâre the kind of girl who gets peonies for breakfast, so Riki Nishimura would really like to know why youâre buying weed from him.
輿ć ĺ riki nishimura x cheer captain! reader
ËËË riki as a plug, i promise its not as bad as it sounds, romcom, fluff, crack, profanity, homewrecking but not really, cheating (not really) but not on riki dw, explicit content, smut, oral sex, m receiving, porn with plot, unprotected sex, dom ni-ki, size kink lowk, weed, toxic, mdni !
wc: 20 766
p: d.a.m. - fetty wap ; homewrecker - somber ; i get lonely - drake ; lowkey - niki (fcking hilarious)
Riki Nishimura was a conformist by all means possible, and even prides himself as a law-abiding citizen to the normalized standards.Â
He does think some fractions of the government system can totally be tweaked, but he isnât some reformist that would go out of his way â he actually really likes the stability of society and how itâs structured. Heâs comfortable with the status quo.
That includes knowing who to follow on Instagram, who not to approach in the hallway, who to invite in group projects, and who to sit with in lunch. He goes by what makes sense and knows who the hell doesnât belong in his circle, who rightfully has his phone number, and who can comment on his Instagram posts.Â
Except when it comes to substances. Heâs not a drug addict but he does enjoy good weed.Â
He did listen during chemistry lectures, which basically means he knows a thing or two about pharmaceutics â at least the important parts like which produce larger surges of dopamine and intense euphoria. So while they get drug orientations every start of the school year and the addition of the entrepreneurial mindset of a businessman his father has passed down to him; Rikiâs a fucking a jackpot. He simply believed every structure had blind spots, and if someone was smart enough to notice them, then maybe they deserved to profit a little.Â
Maybe that made him a hypocrite. He knew that. Sometimes, in the middle of his own judgment, the thought would occur to him that he was not exactly living inside the moral boundaries he pretended to respect.
So with all of these in mind â weed-seller and social scale follower â imagine his surprise seeing a text from you.
You, an A-tier cheer captain with perfect grades and perfect friends and a perfect boyfriend and someone he doubts even has ever touched weed within a 10 feet radius because of how goody-two-shoes and slightly more socially-conformed you are, texted him:Â
you:
hi
you sell right
The kind of surprise a priest might feel if the Virgin Mary asked to borrow a dildo.
Riki stared at his phone for a full thirty seconds. Not because he was shocked by the question itself â heâd gotten worse, far more incriminating messages from people with nothing to lose â but because of who it was from. Your name sat there, attached to a profile picture he never thought would sit on his chat log. Someone who followed the rules so well she barely seemed to touch the ground and practically flew up the school field with the school banner.
This was not how the structure worked. Nope.
He knew you didnât look at people like him unless it was to borrow a pen or unwillingly get assigned to a lab partner. You definitely werenât supposed to be asking him this.Â
Riki leaned back in his chair and rethought the logistics. He wasnât paranoid â paranoia implied irrationality. This was risk assessment, youâre high visibility, youâre a liability, youâre a cop in disguise, youâre a prig whoâll ruin his cloak and dagger, youâre holier-than-thou. Youâre interesting.
riki:
????
is this a test loll
you:
?
its a question
riki:
u fr????
you:
js tell me if its a no
i have money
riki:
3pm behind the science building
you:
ok thanks
But more than whatever you are, he knows this was stupid. This was the kind of deviation that got people caught and into the most flouting position heâll ever be, therefore ruining his very wish to stay within a lawful system. It was, unequivocally, a very bad idea.
And yet he finds himself at the back of the building while he reevaluates the measures of bad-ness in the idea. If math really has been on his side along with his really athletic stature, he can run when you pull out as witness to his little dissenter mood. It halts when he sees you rounding the corner in your cheer uniform â ponytail perfect, knee tape slightly crooked, eyes darting like you werenât sure you belonged back here â he realizes something his knees will give out before he can even try to walk away.
You stop a few feet away from him, awkward, out of place, glowing like a wrong answer circled in red. You stare at him with your arms crossed, hyperaware when his eyes follow the silhouette of your frame like heâs finding a covert surveillance device underneath your pleated skirt.
Riki talks calmly, like this wasnât insane at all, like he hasnât been in his head for the past hours: âSo,â he starts, hands slipping into the pockets of his hoodie. âWhat do you need?â
The question shouldâve been easy. Youâd rehearsed it in your head on the walk here, timed it with your steps, told yourself not to sound like an idiot. But standing this near â near enough to notice the faint, clean smell of cologne and something green and earthy â you blank.
You shift your weight, arms tightening across your chest. âUm. Weed.â
Riki blinks once, and immediately he knows what this is. He studies you the way he did with lab results that didnât line up with the predictions â or maybe it did exactly, and he canât believe it was that easy.
ââŚOkay,â he said. âWhat kind?â
Your mouth opens. Then closes.
âWhat kind.â he repeats.
You felt heat crawl up your neck. âJust⌠normal?â you say, immediately hating yourself. âLike. The kind people use?â
A corner of his mouth twitches before he can stop it. Then he licks the inside of his cheek, shaking his head when he realizes that yeah, his guess is right. âYou donât know what youâre doing.â he says.Â
You bristle. âSo?â
âYou donât even know dosage. Or strain. Or why you want it.â His eyes flick up to yours. âDo you?â
Your confidence wobbles, the polished composure you wore so easily in hallways cracking just a little now. He pulls out a small, neatly labeled bag and holds it between his fingers instead of handing it to you. âThis is low THC,â he explains. âWonât make you freak out. But I need to know what you specifically need so you donât⌠panic.â
This was supposed to be transactional, quick, something you could tuck away and forget about. Yet every risky glance you take, he doesnât look like someone whoâd hold anything against you.
Riki sighs, about to put the bag away. âLook, letâs just forget ââ
âI just,â you start, then sigh because thereâs no cool way to say it. âI donât know. I had a bad week. I wanted to try something.â
When you finally look up, heâs watching you differently. Not like youâre stupid or embarrassing, though you feel plenty of that on your own. His brows have lifted slightly, the faint amusement in his mouth fading into something quieter as he takes you in properly: your tight grip on your own arms, the way your eyes keep darting away.
And it makes it worse.
You meet his eyes for half a second before looking away with a small huff, embarrassed by the sudden attention.Â
He puckers his lips slightly, staring at the thing in his hand like heâs thinking. At first, you think he might be deciding if youâre worth the trouble, but then he nods once. âOkay,â he says. âSo youâre not becoming a stoner. Youâre just trying a new cuisine.â
You blink at him, then laugh under your breath before you can stop yourself.
His mouth twitches, but hides it. He steps closer, just enough that you can see the smoothness of his skin, like he owns expensive skincare. Heâs very tall, in a way that surprises you maybe because youâd just never stood this close before.
Really, you never spent time looking at Riki Nishimura. Youâve known the name, because who can ever look past the opulent sound of it, but to know the man behind it didnât matter. After texting him, you donât know what you expected either, maybe someone grubbier and smelled like smoke, someone with dry lips from all the ash. You thought heâd smell like one of those hippie guys who sold sketchy shit while wearing the same beanie for three years.Â
But no, he smells like a familiar perfume your father owns in his fragrance wardrobe.
And his clothes are annoyingly nice, like the hoodie is probably more expensive than it looks and the loose pants are intentional, not lazy.Â
Also, heâs 6â1.
âThis,â he taps the bag lightly, âwill help you relax. Body high, mostly. Youâll still be functional. But since itâs your first time, better not fuck around too much.âÂ
Heâs still standing in front of you, close enough for you to notice the way his lashes lower when he looks at the bag in his hand, and you feel deeply, horribly stupid for only realizing now that he looks like that.Â
Your gaze lingers, and he catches it. Riki clears his throat, spine straightening a little. âYou okay?â
âYeah,â you say too fast.
He only hums. You tighten your arms across your chest. âJust give me the thing.â
He finally hands you the bag, and you eye it once you feel its weight in your palm; leafy and green and brown and not you â but it doesnât look so bad right now. It looks enticing, even, which you wonât try to admit out loud.
âTwenty,â he says, not planning to converse himself with the sudden discount.Â
You dig into your bag, finding for the vintage pink wallet that screams the contrast of cannabis in your palm right now. âYou know,â you say, hesitant but honest, âI donât know. Itâs weird how weâve never talked before.â
That gets him. He chuckles even if thereâs nothing funny about what you said, but there is something humorous about the fact he remembers shit you obviously forgot. Heâs quick to question the lack of indifference, because he remembers it well that this is definitely not the first time you two talked.
âWe were partners in freshman year,â Riki says.
He watches your face blank in real time, and something about it makes his mouth lift again, but not kindly enough to be mean. More like he expected it and still finds it a little funny that you are proving him right.
âEnglish lit,â he adds. âThe mythology presentation.â
For a second, he looks at you like someone whoâs always known you, and you look at him like youâre seeing him for the first time. He sees it flash in your eyes, that maybe you remember him more than just some guy who sells weed to irresponsible decision-makers.
âOh,â you say.
Riki nods once, the corner of his mouth twitching. âOh.â
Until your phone buzzes to drag you back from this little bubble youâre in â your boyfriendâs name lights up the screen and Riki notices it too.
âOh,â you say again, clearly out of your own head. âI â sorry.â
Something shifts, like the structure rebuilds and reasserts itself back into proper footing. You pull the bills from your wallet and press them into his hand. âThanks,â you say. âFor, um. The stuff.â
He closes his fist around the money, nods once. âYeah.â
You hesitate like you might say something else, so you just tuck the bag away and step back. âIâll go,â you say.
You turn the corner first. Riki exhales only when youâre out of sight, and chews on his bottom lip before hitting the side of his fist against the wall without real effort. He turns the other corner, parting from the rendezvous kept between eng lit and discounts.
The thing is, Riki knows you before whatever you are now. Miss Perfect who buys weed from Mister Lowkey Weed Seller â itâs a whole tangle in his brain in which he canât exactly comprehend, but while he smokes a joint and music blasts through the speakers from the house party heâs dragged into, your pictureâs pinned with red strings.Â
Heâs known you since third grade. Youâve been part of the cheer team before puberty, and since then youâve accumulated likable girls your age into your circle, then the guys from the football team after. It becomes a whole coupling session when the age came right, which Riki is convinced is just some orgy labeled friendship goals in curated Instagram. He thought you were mean mostly because thatâs what someone like you would be â but he does know a thing or two about you, other than the assumption of character. Youâve been in the same group projects against your will, sometimes youâd stand next to each other by the queue lines in the cafeteria, sometimes youâd bump against him in the hallway when youâre chasing time.
Is it weird he kept tabs? Maybe.
He always noticed, obviously, why wouldnât he? You are not exactly unnoticeable. Youâre nicer than your friends, you say sorry when you accidentally bump into someone, you say thanks to the staff, you say good morning to strangers, youâre pretty, youâre talented, youâre smart, you laugh at his jokes, you bought weed from him, youâre pretty, youâre perfect, youâre funny, youâre ridiculously pretty â
Riki takes another puff, too fast and too harsh, earning a rough cough from his throat. Heeseung chuckles, giving him an aggressive pat on the back when he leans his elbows against his knees. âGeez, first time?â
Riki shoves his arm away with a laugh, unsure where this is coming from. Because on top of every other noticeable trait you have, you have a boyfriend. So. Yeah. He knows better than to think about you.
He sinks deeper into someone elseâs couch â leather, cracked at the seams â while the bass rattles the walls and bodies blur together in the dim lights. Smoke hangs thick in the air, clinging to his clothes, his hair, his thoughts. He takes another drag, slower this time, lets it sit in his lungs until the noise dulls around the edges.
Across from him, someoneâs laughing too loud, then a couple is making out like itâs an Olympic sport. Heeseung steals the joint from his fingers and flicks the ash into an empty cup.
âYou look fucked,â Heeseung says.
âIâm not,â Riki replies automatically.
âMhm.â
Riki pushes himself up from the couch, suddenly restless. He just wants a drink â something cold, something that doesnât make his head spiral because even the thought of weed pulls him back to this cheerleader. So he goes to the kitchen, instinctively saying half-assed sorryâs to strangers without meaning them.Â
Until he bumps into someone.
For half a second, he genuinely wonders if the side effects are finally catching up to him, because his head feels several feet away from his eyes and the kitchen lights look more hazy than they should.
But itâs you, he knows that because your kind voice apologizes; the way you always do, the way your friends donât. Your shoulder knocks into his chest and youâre already stepping back, eyes wide a fraction of a second when you look up. Riki freezes too, unsure what to do with his hands or his feet or where to look without threading too close to the sternum your lowcut top exposes. Up close, under dim kitchen lights instead of school hallways, you look unreal â hair loose, lips parted like youâve been laughing.Â
âRiki,â you say, breathless, like his name slipped out before your brain could catch it.
His name on your mouth does something stupid to him.Â
âHey,â he says, too softly. Heâs just thankful you donât notice the slight roughness of it.
You smile, small and polite â but thereâs something else underneath it now. Recognition that shouldnât exist, not in the structure where youâre meant to forget that you know; one where he looks up at you from beneath your echelon, now heâs standing close enough that you have to tilt your chin to look up at him.
âI didnât know youâd be here,â you say.
He huffs a quiet laugh. âI didnât either.â
You glance past him, toward the other room, toward where your friends probably are â or your boyfriend. Then back at him, polite in a way heâs sure is because youâre you and not because heâs him.
âI donât usually see you in⌠parties,â you say.Â
He puts both hands in his pant pockets, shoulders loose, eyes on yours like the noise around you doesnât have enough authority to interrupt.
âYou donât usually look,â he says.
Itâs not said rudely, just calm, like heâs stating something obvious enough that both of you should stop pretending around it.
Your fingers tighten around your cup. âThatâs not true.â
Riki tilts his head, eyes moving over your face. âYeah?â
You hate how it sounds coming from him, low and slow and almost amused, like he knows youâre lying before you do. You scoff a quiet laugh, eyes looking away because you canât keep looking at him.Â
âI mean, I know you exist.â You look back up at him when you say it, bottom lip catching between your teeth before you can stop yourself.
His eyes drop for half a second, then he smirks and looks away, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek like heâs trying not to say something.
When he looks back, his face is calmer. âWhereâs your boyfriend?â
The question is casual enough that it almost sounds harmless. You glance elsewhere instinctively, like youâre going to find him close. âSomewhere.â
âSpecific.â
âHeâs with his friends.â
Riki just nods, doesnât wanna push, even though heâs pretty sure you donât actually know where he is. Leaving is the smarter and normal thing to do. The thing a girl with a boyfriend and a reputation and a phone full of unread messages from her friends would do.
Instead, you stay there. And Rikiâs got that tabbed already.
You hesitate, fingers worrying at the rim of your cup. âI, um. I havenât â used it yet.â
Riki blinks. âThe stuff?â
You nod, cheeks warming. âI just⌠donât really know how.â Itâs weird being this honest with someone you barely know, yet your bones donât buzz with the prompt demand to pause. It must be the slight slosh, itâs the only real thing to excuse why youâre not pulling away.
For a second, he just looks at you. Then his mouth curves, slow and amused. âYou bought weed without knowing how to use it?â
Your face warms, but you try not to look embarrassed. âOkay, well.â You lift your cup a little, like that somehow helps your argument. âYou can teach me.â
Riki grimaces immediately, playful but clear. âSounds like a bad idea.â
You blink. âWow. Rude." You huff, looking away, but youâre smiling a little because he doesnât sound scared of you. Or impressed by you. Or desperate to keep you there. He just sounds like he already knows better and hates that he has to be the one saying it.
He sighs, looking away for a second. âFuck, fine.â his jaw clenches. âBut not here.â
You try not to smile and fail almost immediately. You take one step back, still looking at him. âIâll text you. Maybe later?â
Someone calls your name from the other room and you exhale, dragging back through the fracture. The music spikes and someone bumps into you again, closer this time, and Rikiâs hand lifts instinctively, hovering over your waist without touching.Â
Your eyes flick down, then back up to his. âNice seeing you,â you say finally, voice softer now.Â
âYeah,â he says. âYou too.â
You step around him, brushing past just close enough that he catches your scent â which is bad, because now heâll have to remember that too. When you disappear back into the crowd, Riki stays rooted in place for a beat too long.
He exhales, rubs a hand over his face, and laughs quietly to himself.
He really, really knows better.
Which somehow makes it worse.
Riki glances back to see youâre sitting on the couch now, legs tucked in, your boyfriendâs arm slung easily around your shoulders. He leans in and presses a quick kiss to your cheek, which makes you smile and ease back into him. Riki turns away to open the fridge and grabs the coldest beer he can find. He lifts it and downs it in one go, throat burning at the coldness and bitter taste.
He shouldnât do this.
He really shouldnât.
Later, in that strange lull when the party has gotten worse and louder â you text him.
You:
bathroom upstairs
The bathroom is cramped and clean but gross in concept: flickering light, foggy mirror, the smell of cheap air freshener. Youâre perched on the edge of the sink when he slips inside and locks the door behind him, eyes bright, a little nervous, because being in a bathroom with you feels worse than any sketchy deal heâs made.
âOkay,â you whisper, like youâre conspiring. âSo. Teach me.â
He winces, glancing around. âThis is⌠not ideal.â
You just grin. He laughs despite himself and sets the weed down on the closed toilet lid, grimacing when he starts rolling paper against it. Once heâs done, he holds the roll up to your mouth and he tells you to lick it. You follow through, leaning down and sticking your tongue out to lick the side. He clears his throat, trying not to think about the way you looked doing that, trying not to imagine anything else.
Heâs careful, not clinical or a lecture when he instructs, just calm and reassuring like heâs trying to keep you comfortable more than correct. When he hands the final roll to you, your fingers shake a little as you take it.
âLike this?â you ask.
âYeah,â he says softly. âSlow.â
You cough immediately after trying, sharp and sudden, bending forward with a surprised laugh. âOh my god â why does it â â
âHey,â he says, too fast, stepping closer, hand hovering at your back. âYou okay?â
You wave him off, still laughing, eyes watering. âIâm fine, Iâm fine.â
He watches you like you might disappear if he looks away. Youâre laughing, which isnât comforting Riki even in the slightest because the last thing he needs is to not be a conformist and end up in jail for accidentally supporting your homicide.
You try again, better this time. You still cough, laugh, cough again, but way more manageable as time goes by.
âSorry,â you say, breathless.
âDonât apologize,â he says. âYouâre doing fine.â
You keep at it, stubborn in that way of yours, until the coughing eases and something in your shoulders loosens. You lean back against the wall, head tipping gently, eyes half-lidded.
âOh,â you murmur. âThatâs⌠actually really nice.â
Riki lets out a breath he didnât realize he was holding, a nervous laugh slipping out. He leans back against the wall, hand through his bangs, exposing the skin of his forehead. âJesus fucking Christ,â
You nod slowly, smiling to yourself. âMy brainâs quiet.â
He watches you for a moment: relaxed, unguarded, glowing in this tiny bathroom because you donât belong here at all, holding a joint Riki himself rolled for you. Really, you never belonged anywhere that tried to put you in a box, and he wasnât going to make himself an exception to that opening.
He tries thinking about who you really are, beyond what most people would take you as. Though he knows not to fantasize a tale where he saves the damsel from her golden label. He takes you with memory and not assumption: cheer girl, disciplined afternoon drills, academically smart, socially competent, good. But tonight, while you lean against the cracked sink and stand diagonally across him, he sees a side he never thought heâd secretly behold.
Your eyes flick to him. âYouâre a good teacher.â
He swallows. âYouâre an easy student.â
Riki rolls another one for himself, hands steadier now that youâre settled, and lights it with a quiet flick. The bathroom fills with a softer haze this time, the kind that wraps instead of hits like a downer high school series. He takes a drag, exhales toward the ceiling, letting the room reek with shouldnâts and endorphine boosters.
You smoke more confidently now, less harsh and rough when you let the smoke run down your throat. Your eyes are a little red, lashes heavier, the sharp edges of you blurred into something warmer and looser, less polished and picture perfect the way your boyfriend would like. Riki thinks â stupidly â that heâs never seen you look better.
You lean your head back against the wall again, staring at the ceiling like itâs just told you a secret. He doesnât stare, actually. He keeps his eyes narrowed to the broken tile in front of him like heâll discern the reason itâs cracked (maybe someone opened the door too hard, maybe someone once stood there trying to look normal while his heart acted stupid over a girl, which was especially humiliating when the whole point of being high was to feel less insane). Sometimes heâll permit himself to glance, but even the very glimpse of your smudged lipstick makes him look away and inhale the fuck outta that weed.
Then, suddenly, with eyes still trained to the dim bathroom light â âI thought you were,â you start, then laugh, a little too loud before clapping a hand over your mouth. âSorry. I thought you were, like⌠this weirdo.â
He snorts, shaking his head. âWow. Honesty hour already?â
âNo â â you groan, waving the joint like youâre conducting an orchestra. âI mean it nicely. You always stayed away from everyone. I figured you were judging us.â
âUs?â he repeats, amused, cocking a brow when he glances at you.
âYou know. People like me.â You squint at him, trying to focus. You gesture at yourself ineptly, clearly out of the ordinary intellectual capacity you clench tight, not when rickety makes up for your feet.
He quickly looks away, trying not to smile.Â
âLoud. Annoying.â you clarify, hand gesturing around.
He tilts his head, considering. âWas I supposed to be friends with people like you?â
You blink, like youâre thinking about what he said and calculating the rationale behind his causes. It was a hit, one that steadies a thought in your brain.
âIs that so bad?â
The question knocks the breath out of him, especially when you look up at him like that, eyes bright and wide. He blinks, and then he laughs, coming out quieter this time, looking away because he canât keep eye contact with you. âI didnât think youâd want that.â
âWhy not?â
Because thereâs a system. Because thereâs levels to this shit. Because you have a boyfriend. Because youâre untouchable. Because youâre perfect and heâs whatever this was. Because people like him didnât get pulled into your orbit unless it was transactional. Like weed exchanges and favors on the toilet.Â
For now, he shrugs. âSeemed like you already had your people.âÂ
You hum, nodding slowly, then smile. You tap the joint, watching some ash fall to the tiles. âTheyâre loud.â
He smiles back despite himself. âYeah. They are.â
The bathroom feels like itâs floating away from the music that pumps loud through the pipes, a constant reminder that thereâs more than the stinky bathroom you two share as a secret. Itâs risky because itâs merely wood that separates the crypticity of Mary Jane from the Average Joe you two function in individually.
You glance at the joint, then at him. âYouâre not weird, by the way.â
âOh?â he says, eyebrow lifting. He even scoffs, because he (un-admittedly) finds you adorable.Â
âYouâre just⌠quiet. You keep to yourself, but that doesnât make you⌠eccentric.â You grin lopsided, cheeks warm but you ignore that. âYouâre nice.â
That one gets him, more than heâd ever admit to anyone. Riki looks over, and for half a second, his gaze slips lower before he forces it back to your face. Youâre already looking at him, all soft eyes and honest mouth, like you have no idea what youâre doing to him.
He looks away first, rubbing the side of his jaw like that might help. âYouâre high,â he says.
âMaybe,â you confess. âBut I mean it.â
Heâs been called quiet and nice all his life, but that was never the full truth. He just knew who deserved access to the rest of him, and most people didnât. It wasnât personal. He could talk when he wanted to, laugh when something was actually funny, keep a conversation going if he cared enough. He just didnât feel the need to prove he had thoughts by saying all of them out loud.
Riki takes a drag, exhales slowly, looking over the tiles of the bathroom while he rethinks the decision heâs about to drop. He clears his throat before speaking, âYouâre not mean either.â
Your eyes widen a little, gaze recklessly steady at his side profile. âYou thought I was?â
âEveryone did,â he says honestly, smiling a little.
You make a face, frowning at him even though he refuses to look at you. âThatâs rude.â
He laughs, really laughs this time, head tipping back. When he looks at you again, youâre smiling up at him like youâve discovered something new and decided to keep it. For a moment, it feels like maybe there was always a version of this where you talked in bathrooms and shared smoke and didnât belong where people expected you to.
You take another small drag, then suddenly straighten when you decide to take him in. Heâs wearing a jacket over his hoodie, simple sweats loose around his hips. Only a few strands of his dark blonde hair graze over his forehead, leading down to the sharp features you only really notice now.
You never thought Riki Nishimura was ugly. Now, you canât help but think that heâs⌠kinda hot.
Youâre high, youâre just gone. Thatâs why. It also explains why you nudge closer than you have been before, letting your skirt brush slightly against his pants, thighs grazing slightly against his.
Youâre both still smoking â slow now, like the room itself has decided to breathe with you. The bathroom feels even smaller than before, shrinking with every second the music downstairs gets louder but muffled through the wooden door keeping you a secret. Your head feels light, buoyant, like youâre floating a few inches above your body. Maybe itâs the weed. Maybe itâs the half-drinks youâd taken before this. Maybe itâs neither.
He stares at the tile beneath his boot like it holds the secrets of the universe, or like it had the equations for him to understand gravityâs intentions and how it led to him feeling your softness against him.
âIs there something on the floor?â you laugh.
He just huffs, shaking his head because thatâs all he can do right now. Youâre still leaning back and heâs still standing just a little too close. Your knee brushes his again, accidental but not corrected.
He looks down at you then. The red in your eyes, the crooked smile, the way youâre leaning just a little toward him like gravityâs doing something new. You lean closer because youâre completely zooted and smart-Riki who knows better, leans away and only lets his chest tighten. His eyes drop traitorously down to your lips, and heâs not fast enough to look back up. You notice, of course, which makes you both look away and straighten back on your feet instead of the wall.Â
Riki clears his throat, smoking the last of his before he rids of it against the sink. âYou gotta go?â he asks out of the blue, which makes you frown a little. It wasnât exactly a statement, but you know when things are implied and telling, so you shove back the nerves and remember that heâs different from you.
Youâre not his type of person. He probably likes more chill people who actually know how to roll this shit â not the sheltered ones whoâs clueless with THC or terms alike it.
âYeah. I guess.â you smooth out your clothes even though nothingâs wrong with them.
He realizes what he just did, especially now that youâre not even looking back at him. He tries correcting himself, to backtrack, but the moment you glance back up, heâs silenced. You put your unfinished joint in his hand. âSee you.â You say just before unlocking the door, slipping through it, and accidentally slamming it too hard.
Riki reels in from the solitude of the silence, like heâs now just realizing the ruins he broke himself. He sighs in resignation, head falling forward in defeat. âShit.â
He stares at the thing in his hand, unfinished and yours, half-burnt and still warm.
âIdiot,â he mutters to himself, dragging a hand down his face. He can still feel the ghost of your skirt brushing his leg, the way you didnât look back because he gave you a reason not to.
But the bathroom still smells like you â sweet perfume tangled with smoke â and the joint is there, remaining as an accusation wrapped in paper. He turns it between his fingers, thumb brushing the spot where your lipstick smudged faintly against the edge.
Riki exhales, then lifts it.
He wraps his lips around it carefully, stupidly aware of the fact that yours were there first. The thought alone makes his chest tighten, heat creeping up his neck and pelvis as he takes a slow drag.
He closes his eyes as he exhales, leaning his head back against the wall, heart thudding too loud for a room this small. For a split second, he imagines you still there â tilted smile, red-rimmed eyes, saying his name like it belongs to you, all while your boyfriend waits in the living room.
He laughs shakily under his breath. Itâs so wrong.
After that, you two havenât really talked for weeks.Â
That part isnât weird. You both have lived the majority of your lives settling with the insouciance despite recognition, and one night in a bathroom, smoke and secrets and red eyes, isnât enough to reroute that kind of muscle memory. Riki tells himself that over and over, like itâs a theorem heâs already proven.
He hasnât been worried. He still goes to class, still shows up on time, still hands in assignments with some effort. The only difference â although barely worth mentioning â is that heâs been dipping into his stash more often than usual. A little before bed. A little after.Â
Riki exhales slowly, staring at the ceiling, telling himself â again â that this doesnât mean anything and it doesnât have anything to do with the cheer girl he kinda had a moment with in the bathroom.
Itâs so fucked, even if you donât think being his friend is bad, because youâre not meant to be a part of this. He was simply curious that Miss Cheerleader bought weed from him and kinda trusted him way too fast and that wasnât just some everyday occurrence â thatâs the only best psychological explanation why youâre here even when youâre not.
You have a boyfriend. Heâs not about to be a homewrecker. Yet itâs not helping.
No talking for weeks, reaching a month even. That says enough. He has to stop.
âProbably about Little Miss Perfect.â
Riki flinches like someone just snapped a rubber band against the back of his neck. He sits up, glaring at Heeseung. âWhat the fuck,â he blurts. âHow do you know that?â
Jake slowly looks up from his laptop, eyes lighting up like he just unlocked a bonus level.
âOh my god.â Sunghoonâs grin spreads and Heeseung laughs, clapping like heâs won because technically he did, at the mental betting at what keeps Riki Nishimura downing his marijuana greenhouse.
âOhhh,â Heeseung says, taunting and annoying. âSo it is about her.â
Riki blinks. âNo.â
âThat was the weakest no Iâve ever heard,â Jake says immediately, pointing a finger at Riki. âYouâre a guilty man, arenât you?â
Riki scoffs, scrambling, fingers rubbing against his temple in attempts to cool. âYouâre literally insane. Why would it be about her?â
Heeseung shrugs, casual. âI saw you two talking at that party.â
Rikiâs stomach drops. âYou â what?â
âRelax,â Heeseung says, laughing. âI wasnât spying. You two just kinda had a freeze frame by the kitchen. Wasnât so hard to notice.â
Riki opens his mouth, just to close it. Then he runs a hand through his hair with the irritated slant of said illegality stamped in your name. âWe were just talking. Nothing happened.â Riki snaps, defensive again, hands up like heâs caught.Â
Jake squints at him. âThen why are you acting like that?â
Riki looks away. Usually, itâs enough answer to more teasing and mocking, but maybe not this time. Because now, it raises actual questions that regard his very bearing at this monumental association with you â a damn unicorn of a scene snatched out a comedy fantasy movie.
Heeseung asks carefully, âAre you, like, her boy toy or something?â
Riki whips around with the flush of unpredictability and utter shock. âWhat? No!â
Heeseung grins again, gentler this time. âOkay, not her boy toy. What now?â
Riki exhales, long and slow, falling back supine against the floor with the decency of a man with boundaries and the understanding of someone brilliant to keep himself away. âNothing. She has a boyfriend. She lives in a different world.â
Itâs realistic. He thinks heâll drag the shit out of his stash to get his mind off this, because Riki Nishimura was a conformist by all means.
Youâre where youâre supposed to be.
You laugh at the jokes while dawdling down the hallway with girls you actually consider your friends, your boyfriendâs arm heavy around your shoulders like it belongs there. You learned how to roll your own joints now, practiced with irritated little shrieks until it stopped being embarrassing, until they came out neat and perfect between your fingers. You donât need him. You donât need anyone, actually. Independence always looked good and natural on you.
Then Riki walks past with Heeseung and Jay.
Backpacks slung low, shoes dragging lazily against the floor, laughing about something stupid like someoneâs terrible quiz score. Rikiâs eyes stay forward like always, keeping his business private from everyone. Especially from you.
You donât acknowledge each other beyond the bare minimum of peripheral awareness of two classmates that happen to be in the same class and two planets in the same orbit. Your boyfriend tightens his arm around you, leaning down to murmur something about lunch plans. You nod, glossed lips wrapped around a lollipop, sugar sweet and cherry-flavored on your tongue. You should be listening, youâre sure you are, until he passes.
Your eyes follow Riki â not openly, just enough to catch the back of his neck, the familiar slope of his shoulders, the same boy who leaned against a bathroom wall while you were high and laughing too much, knees brushing his because the room was small and neither of you moved away.
The lollipop slides down your tongue: all artificial sugar because the substance stays at home in the back of your secret drawer, while some of it just passed you down the hallway.
âIâll catch up,â you say lightly, lifting your boyfriendâs arm off your shoulders. âI forgot something.â
You slip away before anyone can think too hard about it, weaving through the hallway with your lollipop still between your lips. You keep enough distance to make it look accidental, watching as Heeseung and Jay split off with quick fist bumps and loud voices. Riki keeps walking and pushes open the door to an empty lecture hall before disappearing inside.
You stop outside, remembering that this is probably the part where youâre supposed to turn around. Where the perfect, reasonable version of you remembers her boyfriend, her friends, her place in the hallway. Where the status quo reaches for your wrist and pulls you back into line.
Well, you push the door open.
Riki is near the front row, one hand still on the strap of his bag when he looks up from his seat, legs spread wide, thumbs midway to scroll through his phone. His eyes widen slightly, posture going still like he did not think youâd actually follow him.
For some reason, it thrills you. Because now heâs looking at you.
You pull the lollipop from your mouth, twirling the stick between your fingers as the door clicks shut behind you. âHey.â
His eyes flick briefly to the door behind you. âYou lost?â
This isnât a bathroom of some random houseparty. Thereâs no smoke, no music, no excuse, just you, Riki, and an empty lecture hall in the middle of the school day â which means you came here on purpose.
âYou should roll a joint for me again,â you say, like itâs so simple. âOne of these nights.â
Riki blinks once. Then he huffs out a soft laugh, shaking his head. âWhat, you havenât learned since last time?â
You step closer anyway, slow and unhurried, allowed to exist wherever you want. He leans back against his seat, still careful and invisibly (but truly) restless. âI did.â you answer, then you smile small and lazy. âYouâre just better at it.â
That gets him (because youâve been knowing what to say to get him). His eyes lift to you, amused now, something low and unreadable settling there which sets you on fire because you have no idea what heâs thinking, not even a little hint.Â
âFlattery,â he says, then scoffs.
You hum and step closer, close enough that his knee is almost in front of your thigh. Riki leans back in his seat, one arm loose over the desk beside him, phone forgotten in his lap.Â
âThereâs another party this weekend,â you say. âAt McKayâs. You and your friends should go.â
He tilts his head. âShould we?â
âI think so.â You shrug. âGood music, large pad, beer games.âÂ
He chuckles, eyes dropping briefly to the floor before meeting yours again. âAnd youâll be there.â
âProbably.â
âAnd youâll want me to roll one for you.â
You pull the lollipop from your mouth, tapping it lightly against your lower lip as you think. âIf youâre offering.â
âIâm not,â he says, but his mouth twitches.
You lean back against the edge of the desk beside him, copying his ease like you have any right to be comfortable around him. From far away, it would look casual, just two classmates talking before class. Except thereâs only you standing between him and the empty rows, him sitting back in his seat, looking up at you with that unreadable expression while you try not to smile too much.
He should probably feel insulted that you only do this when nobody can see â maybe he does, if he still believes in self-respect. Itâs just hard to stay offended when youâre looking at him like that.
Riki nods once. âIâll think about it.â
Satisfied, you push off the table and head for the door. âCool.â
When the door shuts behind you, he thinks about red eyes and smoke, about how your usual crowd will be there, your boyfriendâs arm around you just before you sneak away to Rikiâs.Â
Youâre trouble, which makes Riki smile. âCause he knows damn well heâs going to that party.
-
McKayâs house is already vibrating when Riki gets there with Heeseung, Jake, and Sunghoon â bass rattling the windows, someone yelling about cups, someone else yelling back about something incomprehensible. Riki isnât a frat boy at all, and he doesnât really go to parties, but the perfume layered on top of alcohol is basically familiar territory.
âThis place is a fire hazard,â Jake mutters, stepping over a discarded heel.
Riki scans the room pretending he doesnât mean to, observing layouts and people, when really heâs actually looking for one specific designer wardrobe of a person.
He doesnât see you, but he sees your usual crowd scattered around the room, posing with red cups they barely drink from and laughing a little too loud whenever someone points a camera at them. Youâre not there, nor is your boyfriend, and that usually speaks for itself already.
Heeseung nudges him, already mischievous with the smile Riki canât see. âLittle Miss Perfect?â
âFuck off,â Riki replies, flat.
Jakeâs halfway to disbelief when he narrows his eyes at Riki. âYouâre already staring.â
âSheâs not even here,â the former hisses.
âLooking for her, though.â Sunghoon teases, practically grinning widely.
Riki pushes past them. âIâm getting a drink.â
He doesnât get a drink. He goes through hallways and in between bodies that nudge abruptly into him, half-assed apologies going through one ear and out the other while he properly finds footing again and again. When he gets to the bathroom and finds it locked, he groans and leans back against the wall. For now, he flicks the light on his own joint and smokes away while he waits â for you, for the bathroom, for anything to make him think going here was worth it at all.Â
Too many girls brush against him, too many of them apologizing with tilted heads and lashes batting. He has no interest in rewarding the performance, not tonight, not when the party is already crawling under his skin, all bass-heavy music, sticky floors, smoke in the air, perfume clinging to his throat, and people packed so tightly he canât move without touching someone. Itâs too much at once; too loud, too hot, too bright, too dark. Then he sees it, and everything in him goes still.
Your boyfriend has another girl pushed against the bedroom wall.Â
Riki sees this through the crack of the door, just slightly opened enough for him to see how he moves his hand underneath her skirt really fucking aggressively. Theyâre kissing too, and itâs not at all sweet or even arousing; itâs just straight out gross. He chokes, coughing so rough and loud and forward he has to lunge himself off the wall and straight through the crowd because his first instinct is you.
Your boyfriend is cheating on you.
What the fuck is happening? Whyâs your boyfriend fucking a girl like someone who knows nothing about clits? Now, Riki isnât an expert about pleasing women but heâs watched porn enough to know that Exhibit A over there was straight-up persecution.Â
He finally spots you near the kitchen, talking to one of your friends with a cup in your hand. He starts toward you, but someone shoves past from behind, and he bumps lightly into your shoulder. You turn, already halfway to apologizing until you see him, your face already changing before you can stop it.
âYou came,â you say, eyes flicking around before coming back to him.
Heâs kinda out of breath, from the smoke and from hurrying, but he smiles too. âYeah.â
While youâre still smiling, Riki clears his throat. Itâs casual like heâs asking for a lighter, not like heâs abput to derail your night, âcause truth be told, heâs not sure he knows how youâll react to the information. To be honest, he thinks about how itâs only fair â maybe â because he doubts your boyfriend knows you sneak into bathrooms with another guy. And sure, his hand isnât performing DJ on your pussy, but the shared secrecy of eye contact with loaded tension is much more intimate than whatever the hell that was.
âUh,â he says, hand rubbing on his jeans. âCan we talk? Like. Somewhere quieter.â
You blink. Then you nod, already stepping closer so he has to lean down to hear you.
âBathroom or outside?â you ask, half-teasing.
âOutside,â he says easily.
The night is cold enough to make everything feel quieter, like itâs only the two of you standing under someoneâs porch light while music leaks through the walls behind you. Itâs strange, because youâre not even friends, not really, but the little space between you feels private in a way Riki doesnât know what to do with. He exhales slowly, like heâs been holding his breath since the second he walked into the house, then leans back against the railing and looks at you standing across from him.
He tries finding the words first, but the way youâre looking at him tightens his chest faster than his brain can work out. Is this karma for your cheating boyfriend? Is he the instrument God has given you to slam notes back to the guy youâre practically cheating on too?Â
Then Riki clears his throat, casual as hell. âI saw something inside,â he continues, tone still chill but eyes a little sharper now. âYour boyfriend.â
Your smile falters. âWhat about him?â
âHeâs, uh.â Riki taps ash off the joint. âHe was fucking a girl. On a wall.â
You stare at him for a while, and heâs half-expecting you to lash out, on him, on the crowd, on your boyfriend, on something.Â
Instead, you laugh this small, amused breath that slips out of you before you shrug, like he told you your boyfriend spilled punch on his shirt and not that he had just seen him with another girl.
What the fuck is happening?
It feels a lot like you donât care and that surprises Riki leading him down a rabbit hole of introspection. He was already expecting you to cry and sob or scream in the party about how much of a dick he is, how you trusted him and gave him everything â all things they do when they find out their boyfriends are cheaters.
No, you just, âWow.â then huff a laugh. âIâm sorry you had to see that.â
He blinks once, watching you carefully while you regather your thoughts as a woman whoâs been said something paltry rather than an admission of an affair. To be honest, Riki doesnât understand, so now he just stands there and looks stunned. And confused. Very confused, actually.
Riki squints at you like heâs trying to solve a trick question. âThatâs it?â he asks. âThatâs your reaction?â
You shrug, lifting your cup to your lips for a sip. âI mean. Itâs been happening. âWeâre just sorta together for our parents. Theyâre friends so⌠but thatâs a story for another night.â
Oh. He never thought fake relationships were a thing.
That makes sense. How come Riki didnât know? Was he so out of touch from school gossips hat he genuinely didnât know that youâre actually not the perfect couple he thought you two were? Is that why Heeseung and Jake and Sunghoon didnât react so badly? Has this been a thing? Oh my God, Rikiâs ecstatic and he hasnât even finished a joint yet.
He lets out a quick, unguarded sound. âJesus.â
You lean back against the railing across from him, far too relaxed for a revelation that should have ruined someoneâs eyeliner. Riki watches you for a second, waiting for the anger, the hurt, the sharp inhale before you turn and storm back inside. But you just stand there, cup in hand, looking more inconvenienced than heartbroken.
Thatâs when it hits him, slow and weirdly humiliating, that you might not care about the relationship at all.
âBut,â you say lightly, âthanks for telling me.â
He blinks, then shakes his head a little. âYeah.â His voice comes out slower than usual. âNo worries.â
You glance at the joint between his fingers, your eyes lingering a second too long on the veins along his hand. âYou always this heroic when youâre high?â
âNo,â he says, deadpan. âItâs just who I am.â
You laugh, and despite everything, his mouth twitches. He looks back toward the door, half-expecting your boyfriend to come out and make the night complicated. When no one does, he relaxes, shoulders easing, but not completely.
Because this is new information.
Someone inside screams the chorus to a song, and the nightâs way too cold for the silence that buzzes. Riki offers the joint without looking at you, just holds it out between two fingers like itâs nothing.
You hesitate for half a second. But you take it.
âYou have a car?â you suddenly ask while you take a puff.
Riki blinks once, then lets out a quiet laugh, dragging his thumb along the bridge of his nose. Right, so this is his life now. He sells you weed one time, and somehow heâs standing outside a party while your boyfriend (?)Â cheats inside and you look mildly bored about it.
Itâs stupid. Itâs also the most interesting thing thatâs happened to him in months.
So he just sighs and slumps back a little. âYeah. I do.â
âLetâs go,â you say, completely not a question, flicking the finished joint on the pavement and trampling it beneath your heel. âI wanna smoke.â
He lets you trail after him through the side yard like this is already something you do, like he isnât silently praying no one sees you following him away from the party. Gravel crunches under your shoes, the bass growing duller behind you as you cross the street toward his Supra, parked sleek and dark under the streetlamp. Riki unlocks it without looking back, rounds the hood, and opens the passenger door for you like itâs nothing.
You notice. You just donât say anything.
Inside, the car actually smells clean and like coffee, for someone youâve assumed is mad about marijuana and sorts alike (well, again, heâs proven how neat he is just for smelling so fucking good). He slides into the driverâs seat and just sits there for a second before turning the engine on, heater clicking low.Â
The silence settles, but it doesnât feel awkward, which Riki finds suspicious. Maybe itâs because youâre not acting like the version of you heâs used to, all neat edges and perfect timing. Now your heels are on the floor of his car, your hair is loose around your face, and youâre curled into the passenger seat of a Supra youâve never sat in before like your body decided to trust him before your brain could argue. He clears his throat, trying to get rid of the warmth at the back of his neck, but you only glance at him like you donât notice. The hem of your skirt rides up consequently, and he tries his hardest not to look.
âThanks. For caring.â
He shrugs, one hand resting loose on the steering wheel. âDidnât feel right not to tell you.â
âYou didnât have to.â
âYeah,â he says quietly. âI know.â
The radio flicks on â some pop song bleeding through the speakers. He then pulls out pre-rolled joints from his pockets, which he sheepishly apologizes for hygiene and, well, itâs a bit delated, although you just smile and take one. He lights yours up and you two stay there, settled in his warm seats, dissolving the chill with cannabis down your system like two people who doesnât give a shit about the system and fucking power dynamics and popularity status.
Again, weird. Hanging out in his car like youâre old buddies who smoke in free time on the usual.Â
If he told himself a month ago that he would be smoking weed with the team cheer captain, he would have laughed his ass off about inhaling too much narcotics that totally screwed mental frameworks. Yet now, heâs stealing a few glances at you beside him, getting high off his greens, and he doesnât feel completely off-center about it. Itâs the weed obviously, but he feels steady. Itâs charged because youâre not talking but your thoughts are everywhere, and even if you protrude the profile of indifference â he knows you care. Then again, what does he know about you, right? You are the odd in the equation, the alternative hypothesis that proves the difference in variables, and talks about the impact on the situation.
Now, conformist Riki Nishimura, who has spent his whole life respecting the ladder, is starting to wonder what happens if he climbs high enough to stand beside someone like you.
He stares through the windshield the second before he speaks. âYouâre not what people think you are.â
You blink, caught off guard as you turn to him. âIs that good or bad?â
He huffs. âDepends whoâs thinking it.â
You smile a little, your eyes moving over him before you can pretend they didnât. Riki isnât brawny in that loud, gym-mirror way, but heâs taller than he should be, broader than he looks from a distance, and unfairly very put together. His throat moves when he breathes in, and you catch yourself watching it for one embarrassing second too long.
You chew on your bottom lip. âAnd what do you think?â
Riki shifts in his seat, hand fidgeting against the wheel like heâs weighing how honest heâs allowed to be. âI think youâre quieter than your reputation.âÂ
You study him now â the calm posture, the way he never overdoes anything, the way his voice stays even like heâs learned not to tip his hand.Â
He glances at you, then back ahead. âMakes it easier.â
You look at him for a second too long. âEasier for who?â
âYou tell me.â
The car feels smaller and the windows are fogged enough that the streetlamp outside is just a blur of light now, like youâve been sealed off from everything else. Away from the reality that boxes you two into something that makes sense rather than accepts.Â
You laugh once, but it comes out softer than planned. âYou always psychoanalyze girls in your car?â
âNo.â
âJust me?â
His mouth twitches. âYou asked.â
You turn your head toward the window, trying to keep your face normal. âYou donât know me that well.â
âI know.â
Riki finally turns to you, one hand still resting loose on the steering wheel. His eyes are a little low, a little unreadable, but not careless â that might be the problem.
âIâm not saying I do,â he says. âIâm saying people donât either.â
Your fingers fidget with the joint, rolling it carefully between them even though youâre barely paying attention to it anymore. The tip glows faintly, forgotten for a second, and Riki reaches over without thinking to tap the ash into the tray before it can fall on your skirt.
You look down at his hand, then back at him when he hands it to you.
âDonât you think thatâs weird?â you ask. âLike, what kind of girl is cheer captain and smokes weed? Who gets into a fake relationship because of her parents? Doesnât that sound kind of fucked?â
He looks at you for a moment.
Then he leans back, eyes returning to the windshield. âI sell weed.â
He says it from the driverâs seat of a spotless car that smells like coffee and cologne. Itâs stupidly funny, actually, the whole contrast of him that kinda looks like you.
You laugh before you can stop yourself. âThatâs different.â
âHow?â he snickers.
You open your mouth, then close it again because you donât actually have a good answer. âI donât know,â you admit, laughing a little. âIt just is.â
He hums like he expected that. Then he glances at you before back through the windshield. âI donât think youâre weird,â His eyes flick over your face. âI think youâre bored.â
Obviously, that makes you furrow your brows. Obviously, you let him continue speaking.
âOf your boyfriend. Your friends. Your parents already knowing what youâre going to do.â His mouth twitches faintly. âProbably bored at being good at the same shit every day.â
You should probably deny it. It surprises you that you donât, even though youâve sworn hatred towards men that think they can assume your personality because of one little circumstance.
âThatâs why youâre here, right?â Rikiâs eyes drop to your hand, then back to your face.Â
Your throat tightens.
âWith me,â he adds.
He doesnât smile like he won, he just sits there with one hand loose on the wheel, like he already knows the answer and is kind enough not to make you say it.
The air between you feels worse, like the moment before a storm cracks open into his car, and electrocutes you with a spark youâve never experienced in your life. Which is eccentric considering youâre not the type of girl whoâd be in Rikiâs car instead of a party dominated by your friends, getting high off shit that would make your parents pass out.Â
You scoff and look away, shaking your head like the whole thing is ridiculous. âYou talk like you know everything.â
âI just guessed one fucking thing.â
You roll the joint between your fingers again, slower now. âMaybe I just wanted to try something.â
âWith me?â
Your eyes cut to him, and you see thereâs a slight curve to his mouth, like he heard the shape of your answer before you even made it.Â
You huff. âYouâre so annoying.â
Neither of you moves. Just suspended there, breathing the same warm air, the song on the radio dissolving into background noise, the world narrowed down to inches and intent and maybe weak will and strong urges. The tensionâs palpable, solid enough that you could feel it grow between your thighs.
Youâre probably one more joint away from being zooted, and Riki knows this of course, which is why he keeps his eyes narrowed across him and not the woman whoâs audibly shifting in her seat.Â
Heâs high too â faster than usual â and it makes the moment stretch in this you know kind because heâs thinking bad. He keeps his gaze trained somewhere between the fogged windshield and the blur of your reflection in it, like itâs the only thing keeping him at bay.
For the record â youâre both twenty, obviously adults, even if the world still insists on calling you kids. Which is also the very age people let you experience the paradox of being too grown and too immature for anything consistent, so the underestimation you endure as an adult, smart woman, cheerleader, and a kinda-child â wow youâre in deep detestation for that system.
So you take control of things you can handle.
Youâre a conformist, no doubt. Except in areas you loathe menâs freedom in yet expect restraint for women. So⌠in diminutive ways, you indulge. Like weed. Like running council. Like wearing short skirts. Like Riki Nishimura.
You glance at him sideways, voice light, almost bored. Almost. âSo,â you say, like youâre asking about his major or what songâs playing on the radio. âI will ask you something kind of personal.â
Riki exhales a quiet laugh. âYouâre already in my car smoking my weed. I think the lineâs gone.â
You smile, satisfied, then tilt your head back against the seat.Â
âAre you a virgin?â
The question hangs there. Unembellished and very dangerous in its simplicity. Also, of course, bold, which makes Riki actually freeze â a half-second pause where even his breathing stutters. Then he scoffs, shaking his head like he canât believe you just dropped that between the heater hum and the low bass leaking from the house.
He blames the weed, though part of him wishes it isnât from that.
âYou always ask things like that?â
âIâm curious,â you say easily. âAnd a little high.â you gesture with your thumb and forefinger.
He rubs the back of his neck, eyes flicking to you now despite himself. âWhy?â he asks. âDoes it change your opinion of me?â
You meet his gaze, unblinking. âI donât know yet. Thatâs why I asked.â
He huffs a soft laugh. He admits to embarrassment, even if it doesnât cover his entire skin with flush and heat, heâs never found himself in this position. But honestly, nothing from the past few weeks has ever been something he prepared for â which he has you to blame, of course.
âYeah.â he licks the corner of his lips, refusing to meet your eyes while he taps the steering wheel. âI am.â
Your eyebrows lift, impressed but not shocked. âHuh.â
Riki looks over. âHuh?â he mocks.
You bite back a smile and turn toward the window, but the reflection gives you away. âI just didnât expect that.â
He scoffs, looking back at the windshield. âWhy?â
âI donât know.â You shrug, still smiling a little. âYou sell weed. And you drive this car.â
âAnd?â
âAnd you look like that.â
For one second, Rikiâs fingers still on the steering wheel, and he learns to shut up. He lets out a quiet laugh after, but it sounds different this time, lower and almost embarrassed. âYouâre so fucking high,â
That makes him quiet, makes him adjust on his seat. Heâs touched a woman before, but no oneâs ever sat on his dick, nor has he ever been in anyone. So maybe heâs half a virgin, maybe heâs just a sore loser. He watches you as you move, as you turn in the seat, knees pressing into the leather, facing him fully now. The space changes instantly, the air recalibrating around your movement and maybe even pushing you further toward him.
Riki stiffens â just suddenly very aware, and perhaps a little scared. âUh,â he says, brows knitting. âWhat are you doing?â
You tilt your head, resting your hands casually on the seat, perfectly balanced. âBored, like you said,â you say. âAnd my boyfriendâs cheating on me. Again.â
He swallows. His gaze drops, then snaps back up to your face, like heâs trying very hard to stay respectful and failing in slow motion because youâre especially gorgeous tonight. âThatâs⌠not a great combo,â he says.
âNot really,â you agree.
You lean in just enough for him to feel it â not touch, not yet. Just close enough that he can smell your gloss, the faint sweetness still clinging to you, and the cannabis that if he warrants himself the scary concept, is his mark on you.
âAt least you donât think Iâm boring.â
Riki exhales, a real one this time, like heâs surrendering to the moment instead of fighting it because what can a simple guy like him do, right? His eyes flick to your mouth again â longer now â and when he looks back up, thereâs a decision there, from someone whoâs tired of conforming.
You close the distance then, slow enough that he could pull away if he wanted to. When he doesnât, your lips meet in a kiss thatâs brief and soft at first. Rikiâs hand lifts instinctively, stopping just short of your waist, hovering there like heâs giving you the choice.
When you kiss again, youâre pressing harder, with the very intent to steal the air from his lungs. So that is what happens, you inhale and climb over the console and close your knees around his waist and heâs breathing shakily against your mouth, fighting for the oxygen heâs willingly giving away.Â
Your cunt presses against the zipper of his jeans, and when you roll, he pulls away like heâs burnt.Â
âW-wait â this isnât â we canât do this.â He shakes his head insistently, looking down your joined thighs while he regains composure.
You frown. âWhy not?â
He looks back up at you, eyes wide and glossy from the taste of your cherry gloss and his greens in your mouth. He looks like he canât handle this. Youâre high, heâs high, this isnât a good idea. Youâre perfect, heâs not, this isnât a good idea. Youâre pretty and he sells weed, this isnât a good idea.
âBecause you have a boyfriend.â he says weakly.
You smile, fingers brushing into the hair at his nape. âNot really.â
He stares at you before he laughs, quiet and disbelieving, like the whole situation is so stupid he has no choice but to let it be funny for half a second. Youâre in his lap, his car is fogged, your party is across the street, and apparently your boyfriend is more of a family arrangement than an actual person you care about.Â
âThis is so fucked,â he mutters.
Still, he kisses you anyway. His hand finally settles at your waist, firm enough to make your breath catch. His fingers press into your flesh just before he pulls you closer and his hips thrusts up underneath you.
His bulge presses hard against your clothed cunt, and a small whimper slips out his mouth. Your thighs practically clench around him, your core tightening as you rub yourself on him. Beneath the jeans secured around his hips, the start of his v-line peeks, in which you softly graze with your thumb.
âF-fuck,â he whispers, resigned while he lets his head fall back against the headrest.
When you kiss him again this time, itâs slow and languid and licking into his mouth, and your hips start rolling against his while he unconsciously bucks into you. You gasp at the feeling of his growing erection despite the jeans, and you canât help but feel rushed because itâs been way too long.Â
His bodyâs hot and he doesnât understand why he canât even talk properly. âAre you okay?â you ask, kissing his cheek. He just nods.
âThis is so wrong,â Riki says softly and raspy.
You just smile and kiss him again, feeling how sloppy heâs starting to become when your tongues meet. You set the pace, careful with how you bite and suck, more of a learning curve with what you like best rather than devouring. Riki realizes this and slows down too, relaxing underneath your thighs while his cock remains bulging against you. Your soft fingers slither at the back of his hair, tugging and caressing, while he finds the courage to sneak his tongue into your mouth.
When you pull to breathe, heâs practically panting. âYou can touch me.â you whisper.
His gaze practically flicks up to look up at you, silently asking for clarification. You donât use words, you instead take his wrists and start dragging his hands from your waist to underneath your shirt. His breath hitches at the feeling of your soft skin against his, watching intently as you guide his hands further beneath your cotton top, until his fingers slightly grazes the soft swell of the underside of your breasts.
âShit.â Riki mutters, his breath unstable when you let go. He looks for your eyes, asking for instructions, except you just smile and lean in to kiss him again with your hands on his jaw.Â
So he takes it upon himself to move by his own. His fingers grazes the soft skin, careful and learning, testing the underside swell by gently squeezing. After that, he gains confidence, hands going further up until they touch your nipples.Â
You gasp, pulling away to breathe when he starts gently pinching them, rolling them against the pads of his fingertips. He plays with them for a little while, watching your reactions when you sigh heavy, when your eyes close, when you lean further against his touch. Itâs so good, he doesnât even notice how painfully hard he is when he can feel just how sensitive your nipples are, when he can feel the weight of your breast as he cups them.
After a while, he finally stops, hands gliding down your ribs instead, thumbs still grazing slightly at the curve. Your kissing eases, reduced to pecks and softness. At rest and caress, you giggle and he chuckles, finally reeling in from the moment at how high he feels.
From your taste, your softness, your clothed pussy still pressing against his hard-on.
âYouâre good for a virgin.â you say.
At that, Riki huffs and leans his head back against the rest, caressing your waist while he watches your face. Youâre very pretty, even when your lipsticks smudged and youâre clearly teasing him, not touching him at all.Â
He doesnât mind. He doesnât think heâll mind for a long time. âIâm trying to make decent decisions.â
You tilt your head. âAnd kissing me is one?â
His jaw tightens a little, but he smiles. âItâs a very bad decision.â
âMm.â You lean closer, but you donât kiss him this time. âYou stopped.â
âBecause I donât want to be your rebound,âÂ
The teasing fades just a little. Your fingers, which had been lazily tracing the back of his neck, slow, and now you look at him too, at the way heâs looking at you like something cliche is about to happen now that heâs tasted something better than marijuana.
âYou think Iâd use you?â you ask.
He shrugs. âI donât know.â
You study him for a moment. His nose and ears are still pink, which admittedly does something to you. It makes him look shyer somehow, less untouchable, like all that quiet control has slipped just enough for you to see heâs not as unaffected as he wants to seem.
He looks back at you, thumb moving once at your waist. âLet me take you out.â
You stare at him. âYouâre asking me on a date right now? While Iâm sitting on you?â
His mouth twitches despite himself. âNot my best timing.â
You laugh, soft and surprised, but he doesnât laugh with you right away. You lean in again, slower and softer, just lips meeting and staying there, but his breath still hitches. You lets it last for a few seconds before you pull back, still close enough that your noses nearly brush.
âAsk me when weâre not high.â
Then he laughs once, quiet and disbelieving, his hand flexing at your waist. âFine.â
Riki drives you home that night and you arrive at around 3 am, friends completely unaware of where you are or who youâre with â but you donât care, even when your phoneâs blown out of weird proportion. You laugh when he insists on walking you to your front porch, just to make sure you donât slip and fall and he wouldnât lose his favorite weed customer.Â
âYouâre ridiculous, Riki Nishimura.â you shove at his arm weakly.
âAnd you,â he leans down enough that his nose nudges yours. âare so pretty.â
You laugh harder, admittedly a little flustered the way you never have been before. He tells you to eat something real when you head in, and you mock him for it but he just smiles and nods, agrees with the idea he is so, very stupid and funny for you.
Riki thinks the universe is testing him. Because ever since last night, every single thing reminds him of you.Â
The cherry gloss taste still ghosting his mouth when he wakes up, the faint perfume lingering on his hoodie, even the stupid heater smell in the car feels different now, like the seats remember the way you climbed over the console and kissed him until his dick ached for you.
âDude,â Jake says, throwing his duffel bag. âYou look like shit.â
Riki drags a hand through his hair. âThanks.â
Jake doesnât push it, which Riki appreciates for about three seconds before he sees where the cheer team is practicing. On the other side of the gym court, youâre standing with your friends, ponytail tied high, hands on your hips while you go over counts as the captain. Youâre not doing anything special, occasionally laughing at something one of the girls beside you says, but Riki still feels his attention pull toward you like it has no discipline left.
He looks away first.
PE is already starting by the time he reaches their side of the court. He pulls his sleeveless shirt down properly and rolls his shoulders once, mostly because he needs something to do with his body. His hair keeps falling near his eyes, and he can feel sweat gathering at the back of his neck before class has even properly started.
He tells himself not to look. But then he looks.
Youâre already looking too.
It only lasts a second. Your eyes meet his, then drop briefly to his arms before you turn back to your friends like nothing happened. Riki presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek and looks at the ball in his hands, suddenly way too aware of himself.
Jake notices, but all he does is glance between the two of you. âSince when do you know her like that?â
Riki bounces the ball once. âI donât.â
Jake gives him a look. Riki doesnât look back. âNot like that.â
âOkay.â
The drill starts, and for a while, itâs just run, catch, dribble, pass, move. Riki focuses on the court, on the PE teacherâs whistle, on the ball against his palms. It works for half the time, until your voice cuts across the space, counting with the rest of the cheer team, and he misses a pass by half a second.
âPay attention,â Jake says, not even laughing.
âI am.â
âYouâre really not.â
Later, when the class breaks for water, Riki walks toward the drinking fountain and finds you there already, refilling your bottle. Your friends are a few steps away, talking among themselves, close enough to notice if either of you makes it obvious, far enough that neither of you has to pretend not to see each other.
He stands behind you to wait for his turn, and from afar, it doesn't look scandalous. You take your time refilling your bottle, eyes forward, one hand steadying the plastic under the stream. He keeps his gaze on the wall in front of you, jaw working once, because he knows exactly what you're doing when you lean a little farther than necessary and let the silence stretch.
Your skirt shifts when you bend, showing the backside of your thighs and the slight swell of your ass, and he sighs through his nose like he's deeply disappointed in both of you. Then he looks away completely.
You bite back a smile.
When the bottle finally fills, you straighten and cap it slowly, still not moving right away. He doesn't meet your eyes when you step aside, he just moves in, bends toward the fountain, and presses one hand against the edge for balance.
Then it's your turn to look away. But you don't, not even shamelessly. Because youâre the girl who got things her way and never got scared of the repercussions.
His sleeveless shirt pulls against his shoulders when he leans down, arm tense from holding himself there, the veins along his bicep showing under the gym lights. Water hits his mouth, and you watch the way his hair falls near his eyes, the way his throat moves when he swallows. It's stupid, actually, how normal he's being and how much worse that makes it.
Riki finishes drinking, straightens, and wipes the water from his chin with the back of his hand. Only then does he look at you.
You're still staring. And for a second, neither of you says anything.
His expression barely changes, but something in his eyes does, like he caught you and decided not to make it easy. "What?"
You blink, then lift your bottle a little. "You took forever."
He looks at you, calm, unreadable, except for the faint color rising at the tips of his ears and the slight lift on the corner of his mouth. "You're one to talk."
Your friends laugh at something behind you, and the sound snaps the moment thinner, not enough to break it, but enough to remind you both where you are. You glance over your shoulder, then back at him, only to find he's still watching you. Not obviously, just enough to show that he knows exactly what that night did to you, and worse, exactly what this day is doing too.
And that heâs enjoying the view.
You tuck your bottle against your chest and step back. "Try not to miss another pass."
His mouth curves. "Then don't distract me."
The second he says it, your smile gets bigger, like a shared inside joke between you two now. Then you turn back to your team, and he stays by the fountain for one extra second, pretending the afternoon heat is the reason he can't stop feeling warm. In the locker room, he pretends itâs celibacy thatâs making his cock hard again, and not the picture of you bending in front of him, the fat of your ass presenting itself to him so adorably.
In the cafeteria, while pages turn and keyboards clack for an upcoming test for biology, you try your best to stay focused the way you can on the usual. Riki was right about you â you were smarter than what people thought, and the merit beside your name is shocking to a whole lot when itâs pasted on the board.Â
You think youâre no longer smart. Not when youâre staring at the open reviewer in front of you, color coded with little sticky tabs but youâre still distracted.
You grab your coffee and drink, just to try if that could help with your lost concentration. Something about protein synthesis and cell division. Something about how Rikiâs hands looked wrapped around the steering wheel that one night while he called you weird and interesting in the same breath.
This is so inconvenient.
âBabe.â
Your boyfriend slides into the empty chair beside you like he owns the furniture, sunglasses pushed up on his head even though the cafeteria lighting could barely offend a bitch. His hand settles automatically on your thigh beneath the table, casual and familiar, and you almost flinch.
âYou disappeared last night,â he says casually.
You lean back in your chair. âI told you I left.â
âYeah, but where?â
You think briefly about Rikiâs car parked under the streetlamp â fogged windows, heated air, cherry gloss smeared on his mouth, plump lips smirking in restraint, hands squeezing you in the right place, keeping you in place.
âI just went home,â you reply smoothly.
Your boyfriend hums, clearly unconvinced, but also has about three seconds of emotional stamina left for the topic, so he lets it go and steals one of your fries instead. âMy parents want dinner with you this weekend.â he says instead.
He continues talking about it but youâre staring at the flashcards and reviewers in front of you, imagining what your parents would say if Riki wouldâve showed up to a family dinner instead. Maybe heâd appear in different clothes, a white button-up just to sit there and attempt to look polite in ways he isnât with you â which makes your heart jump a little.Â
Dinner drags on for three excruciating hours.
Three whole hours of crystal glasses and polished silverware and your boyfriendâs parents discussing investment portfolios. The restaurant is one of those stupidly expensive places where portions are microscopic and every waiter looks vaguely judgmental â you donât complain, youâre rather very grateful for his parents (sometimes).
You sat there in a pretty dress your mother picked out. Your boyfriend talks over you twice when you try contributing to the conversation, his mother asks about your grades before asking how cheerleading is going, like academics and aesthetics are the only two things remotely interesting about you. At some point, your boyfriend likes another girlâs Instagram story right beside you at the table and everything about the night is just bad.
You just feel tired, especially on the way home.Â
Tired in the way performances always leave you feeling like youâve spent hours acting inside a role you got stuck with years ago â because it mostly worked in your favor, until that one time you decided to jump out of your comfort zone and try weed. Itâs the worst thing you have done, but itâs the only thing that made you feel good.
Your heels click quietly against the marble floors when you enter your house and you make it halfway upstairs before the pressure behind your eyes finally cracks. Obviously, you donât sob out of sadness, just frustrated tears slipping down your cheeks while you struggle with the zipper of your dress. âFuck,â you mutter.
Your makeupâs ruined now; mascara faintly smudged beneath your eyes, lipstick mostly gone except for traces still staining your mouth.Â
Before you can think too hard about it â which is kind of bad â you open Rikiâs contact, and your fingers move faster than your dignity can intervene.
you:
he actually sucks so bad
like genuinely i think talking to drywall has more nuance
You exhale through your nose and laugh weakly at yourself because obviously Riki probably has better things to do than babysit you after 9PM, not when youâre just another weed customer and smoking buddy he had. You toss your phone onto the bed and sit in silence for a second, still in your dress, earrings discarded somewhere.
You try not to think about anything for the minutes youâve spent staring at the ceiling: not about Riki, or your dumb boyfriend, or your (im)perfect life, or the way Riki kissed you, or the way he looked at you, or the way he thought about you.Â
Because that's the part that bothers you most. Not the kiss itself, not even the fact that you wanted it, but the way he seemed to actually think about you before touching you. Like you weren't just pretty or convenient or someone people liked because you made sense beside them. Riki looked at you like he was trying to understand you, and somehow that felt more intimate than anything you've ever had.
And maybe that makes you painfully average.
Maybe youâre not special at all, maybe youâre just another girl in the long, embarrassing history of girls who developed feelings for the first boy who looked at them like they were a person. Congratulations, really. Very original and groundbreaking, for being part of the emotionally confused teenage girls.
You turn onto your side and press your face into your pillow, immediately hating yourself for how dramatic that feels.
Until something taps three times against your window.
Your brows furrow immediately because your bedroom is on the second floor and nobody normally knocks on windows like some suburban horror movie, you donât even try to look because of what could be there. For a second, you genuinely think youâre hallucinating from emotional exhaustion and expensive restaurant food and maybe (you did not do prior research) the possibility of the long term hallucinations of marijuana.
Then it happens again. Three deliberate taps.
You sit up slowly from the edge of your bed, the strap of your dress slipping off one shoulder while your heels remain abandoned somewhere near the door. When you turn to the window, your heart practically falls from your chest when you see Riki standing outside like a fucking delinquent moron. Heâs standing on the roof of the first floor near your window, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, while one hand steadies himself against the frame.Â
You burst out laughing while fumbling with the lock of your window. Rikiâs entire expression softens the second he hears you laugh and that does something unhealthy to him.
Because he drove for twenty minutes thinking about you crying over some guy who doesnât even look at you properly, wondering if climbing a house at this hour officially qualifies as insanity (heâs never done that before, and it doesnât sound so conformist right now either). Rikiâs usually good at self-restraint, at risk assessment, at understanding what makes sense and what doesnât.
For the record, this doesnât make sense. Yet here he is anyway.
 âHi.â
You stare at him in disbelief once you finally open your window. âWhat the fuck are you doing?â you whisper-yell.
âYou sounded sad.â
âIs that supposed to be an answer?â
âWhat?â he says defensively while climbing inside carefully. âYou said your boyfriend sucks. That sounded shitty.â
The second he lands properly inside your room, he looks at you before anything else. Heâs used to seeing you fixed with perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect posture, like you just stepped out of a university brochure about good conduct and that the school cheer spirit is something one definitely needs for personal development.
This version of you feels familiar, and traitorously and selfishly, he thinks itâs for him.
Your dress is wrinkled now, your jewelry sits slightly crooked against your skin, your makeupâs smudged enough to expose the eyebags underneath, and your hairâs started falling from whatever expensive style you wore to dinner.
Riki swallows once before he can stop himself. âYou were crying?â
Immediately, you look away, a bit embarrassed when you realize what you look like. âDonât make it weird.â
âIâm not making it weird,â he says quickly, hands lifting instinctively. âI just.â
He cuts himself off because he suddenly realizes he has no idea how to navigate this. Girls usually donât text him while being miserable and summon him to their bedroom windows like some modern romance movie directed by a bad romcom enthusiast. Nothing is romcom-y about this.
So instead, awkwardly, he holds the backyard vegetation toward you.
âI got you these.â
Flowers. They arenât roses and lilies, especially not the peonies your boyfriend orders because it looks better in pictures. Theyâre not anything arranged like the bouquets your boyfriendâs family sends during competitions and birthdays and events where impression matters. They usually screamed âI have moneyâ so I had my manager fix these for you.
Riki brought you wildflowers, which are tiny white, yellow, and purple ones bundled unevenly together like he picked them himself on the side of the road and decided, yeah, these ones are perfect. Theyâre crooked and asymmetrical and a little pathetic, and it weirdly looks a lot like you.
You take them carefully, looking down at the tiny flowers bundled together with what suspiciously resembles a broccoli rubber band.
âOh my God,â you laugh quietly. âThese are so ugly.â
He looks offended immediately. âOkay, first of all, fuck you.â
You laugh, open and loud. âTheyâre literally weeds.â
âI mean. Matches us, no?â he argues.
Youâre still smiling when you bring them closer to inspect, and he notices your eyes when you admire them because he notices everything when it comes to you now, apparently.
âHe made you cry?â he asks quieter this time.
You look up at him, flowers resting against your chest while you slump a little. âNot exactly.â
He raises his brows. âThat means yes.â
You sigh, gaze dropping to the petals between your fingers. âHeâs justâŚâ You shake your head slowly. âI donât know. I guess Iâm really sick of it.â
Riki stays quiet â not because he doesnât have thoughts, but because he has too many.
The thing is, he understands that social hierarchy is basically one giant theater production and heâs spent his entire life studying how to survive inside it correctly â heâs admitted to live in it quite comfortably. Which people to talk to, which ones to avoid, what behavior keeps life stable and uncomplicated, who not to sell weed to.
You were supposed to be part of that stable world, the part that he shouldnât have had any associations with. Instead, youâre now standing barefoot in front of him holding ugly flowers with watery eyes while confiding in him like heâs become something safe. Now heâs giving a girl weeds for flowers, while his own cannabis has become untouched for quite a while now.
You narrow your eyes up at him suddenly, a teasing smile on your lips. âYou couldâve used the front door.â
âAnd say what?â he snorts. ââGood evening, your daughter texted me so Iâm here to comfort her?â
You laugh again and Jesus Christ, he thinks heâd probably climb ten more roofs if it meant hearing that sound a second time.
Which is not good at all.
He looks around your room now, and he finds that is not in the dramatic movie sense where heâs overwhelmed by femininity and candles or whatever bullshit directors think teenage girls do in bedrooms. Itâs just your space and that feels undeniably you in a way heâs never gotten access to before â never thought he would, actually. Thereâs a stack of annotated reviewers on your desk beside skincare products, then a half-folded cheer uniform hangs over your chair. Your bookshelf is organized by color at first glance, but he notices that some books are stuffed sideways and doubled-up like gave up halfway through organizing.
Youâre contradiction after contradiction. Which feels fitting considering Rikiâs currently inside the bedroom of a girl he once categorized under absolutely not my problem.
This is exactly why social structures exist. To prevent situations like this where a guy who sells weed ends up standing in the bedroom of a girl who looks expensive enough to kill him.
You set the flowers carefully on your vanity like theyâre not random plants held together by produce rubber. Riki watches how gentle your hands are, watches the way your dress slips slightly higher on your thigh when you move.
You step closer to him after, eyes peeking through your lashes, and he starts to feel drunk from your perfume. âYou really came all the way here because I was sad?â you ask softly.
Riki opens his mouth automatically with something sarcastic prepared because thatâs safer, because joking is easier than admitting the truth. But then he looks at you looking at him like heâs become something important frighteningly fast.
Honesty slips out before he can stop it. âYeah.â
Your eyes soften in a way that completely wrecks him, because nobodyâs ever looked at him like this before â like he did something meaningful instead of useful.
You step even closer now until thereâs barely space between you. âYouâre really bad at being casual,â you murmur.
He huffs a laugh. âYou climbed into my lap the first time we kissed.â
âThat was different.â
âHow?â
âI was high.â
âAnd whatâs your excuse now?â
Your lips twitch and his gaze drops there instinctively.
Big mistake, because now heâs thinking about kissing you again and suddenly being in your bedroom at midnight feels significantly more dangerous than it did when he drove here. Riki clears his throat and looks away first. Usually heâs good at eye contact, good at keeping composure, good at staying levelheaded even when situations become complicated, because he knows emotional regulation keeps things orderly, predictable, and safe.
You are none of those things anymore.
Standing this close to you feels like someone slowly dismantling every sensible thought process heâs ever had and replacing it with bad decisions and pretty girls in wrinkled dresses.Â
Riki swallows, eyes still not fully on yours. âDo you know what youâre gonna do?â
You sigh, shoulders dropping a little as you look away. âI donât know.â
Riki nods, though he doesnât look surprised. âWell,â he says quietly, âyou arenât happy.â
The honesty in his voice catches you off guard, because it isnât dramatic or possessive or demanding â itâs actually the complete opposite. He says things carefully. Your boyfriend never talks to you carefully.Â
You study Riki for a second â the slight flush across his cheeks, the hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, the fact he literally climbed your house because you sounded sad over text.Â
Clearly, heâs lost the plot somewhere. He might find it in your room, but why would it be there?
You look at the boy who notices everything about you, who reads you better than anyone ever did. And maybe thatâs pathetic, but after a long time of performance and image, you canât quite find irrationality when something finally sees you so clearly.Â
You donât even realize youâre crying again until his expression changes. The tears just spill over quietly, slipping down your cheeks before you can catch them, and for a second, you donât understand why his eyes drop there with so much concern because you arenât sad, nor overwhelmingly happy.
His hand lifts and his fingers touch your cheek lightly and carefully. His thumb brushes beneath your eye, catching the tear before it reaches your jaw. Then the other hand comes up too, steadying your face with a gentleness that makes your throat tighten worse than the crying did. You stare up at him while he wipes your face like itâs something important, his hands warm, his touch steady even though his breathing isnât. He just keeps his palms against your cheeks, thumbs soft under your eyes, focused on you.
Rikiâs thumb slows beneath your eye, his gaze moving over your face with something almost pained. âYouâre too pretty to cry over him,â he says quietly.
Your hand lifts before you can think better of it, fingers wrapping gently around his wrist to keep him there. His skin is warm beneath your palm, and for a second, his whole body seems to still when you touch him. You look up at him because heâs so tall this close, broad enough to block out half your room, and heâs holding your face like you might bruise if he moves wrong.
âIâm not crying over him,â you say, and your voice comes out quieter, âI think Iâm crying because I want someone else.â
His hand stays against your cheek, but his thumb stops moving entirely. He has no immediate answer right now, no dry comment waiting in the back of his throat, no clever way to make the moment smaller than it feels. He just looks at you, like he heard you perfectly and still needs another second for it to reach the rest of him.
He shifts closer, but only slightly, careful enough that you notice the restraint. âAre you sure?â
You let out a tiny, breathless laugh. âYes.âÂ
Then your gaze drops from his eyes, not because youâre embarrassed exactly, but because looking at him straight on feels like standing too close to something bright. Your eyes settle on his chest instead, on the front of his hoodie rising and falling with a breath heâs clearly trying to control. His hands move from your cheeks, careful and slow, until his palms settle just beneath your jaw while his fingers slip behind your ears, curling gently at the back of your neck.Â
For a second, you think heâs going to kiss you.
Actually, you know he is. You can feel it in the way his breathing changes, in the way his eyes drop to your mouth and stay there this time, no pretending it was an accident. Heâs close enough that you can smell his cologne and whatever terrible decision-making brought him to your window.
Then something in you panics â not because you donât want him to.
Thatâs the problem. You want him so much it feels insulting to every sensible part of your life (even though youâve made many irrational choices that have shamed them anyway). You want him in your room, in your space, in the middle of all the pretty, curated pieces of yourself nobody else gets to see messy. You want him, and it would be so easy to lean up and let that be the answer. But there is still one stupid, technical, irritating thing standing between you and that, so you pull back a little.
He freezes immediately, hands dropping like he thinks he did something wrong. âWhat?â
âI need to do something.â
His brows pull together. âRight now?â
You turn away before you can lose your nerve, moving toward your bed where your phone is half-buried in the sheets. Your hands are unsteady when you pick it up, which is annoying because you are not the kind of girl who fumbles â you are the kind of girl who answers essay questions with proper structure, corrects formations instinctively, and pretends sheâs fine so convincingly that people believe it until it becomes inconvenient not to.
Calling your boyfriend while Riki Nishimura stands in your bedroom after midnight is, admittedly, not your most elegant moment, but thereâs a kind of clarity to it too.
He stays behind you, quiet, watching as you scroll to the contact you have ignored for most of the night. His name on your screen looks strange now.
The call rings twice.
Riki moves closer, though not touching you yet, just behind your shoulder, close enough that you can feel the heat of him. It makes focusing much harder, which is extremely inconsiderate for someone who climbed into your room to be supportive.
Your boyfriend answers with your name, voice already irritated. âItâs late. Iâm busy.â
You close your eyes for half a second. âIâm just letting you know. Weâre done.â
There is a pause. âWhat?â
You swallow, your grip tightening around the phone. âIâm breaking up with you.â
Behind you, Riki goes very still. Your boyfriend lets out a humorless laugh. âAre you serious right now?â
âYes.â
âAfter everything? After tonight, youâre just gonna call me and say that?â
You stare at the wall in front of you. Itâs absurd, actually, how little the anger reaches you. Maybe you should be shaking or crying harder or preparing a speech that starts with all the ways he hurt you â instead, you feel strangely calm.
He starts talking again, louder this time, something about your parents, his parents, how youâre overreacting, how you both agreed, how you donât get to act innocent either. Until Rikiâs hand appears beside you, and he takes the phone from your hand.
Your eyes widen. âRiki.â
He looks at the screen, hears your boyfriend still talking, then tosses the phone onto the bed, where it lands face-up against the sheets, the call still running, your boyfriendâs voice now small and furious through the speaker.
âWhat are you doing?â you whisper.
His eyes stay on yours. âYou already broke up with him.â
On the bed, your ex says your name again, sharp and confused, but neither of you are looking at the phone.Â
Riki lifts one hand, not touching your face yet, just brushing his knuckles lightly near your jaw like heâs giving you one last chance to move away.
That is all he needs before he kisses you. It is not rushed, not messy from panic, just a little harsh from jealousy. But itâs slow enough to make your knees feel unreliable, steady enough that your whole body seems to understand before your brain does. You grab the front of his hoodie and he exhales against your mouth, the sound going straight through you. His hand settles at the side of your neck, thumb brushing under your jaw while his other hand finds your waist, careful but sure.Â
The phone is still there, your boyfriend is still talking. It should ruin the moment, but it doesnât. If anything, it makes the whole thing feel worse in the way your heart is pounding too hard, in the way Riki keeps kissing you like heâs trying not to prove a point and failing anyway, in the way you know this is a terrible way to end a relationship and still cannot bring yourself to care.
Riki pulls back just enough to breathe, forehead almost touching yours. âHe talks a lot,â he says quietly.
You laugh before you can stop yourself, and he kisses you before you can even finish a thought he physically cannot hear another word about your boyfriend tonight, earning a gasp from your mouth. Itâs soft at first, his mouth catching yours that makes you go still for half a second, surprised, and then your hand tightens around his wrist as you kiss him back. He exhales through his nose, quiet and shaky, and his fingers press a little more firmly into your nape, not pulling you in too hard, just holding you.
You make this soft startled sound against his lips and he swears it nearly kills him on impact. When he pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead bumps lightly against yours.Â
âI donât wanna talk about him anymore,â he says quietly.
His voice comes out rougher than before. You stare at him for a second, and your lips twitch.
âOkay,â you whisper.
He kisses you again almost immediately, and this time you kiss him back just as fast, your chests pressing against one another until you can feel the rapid beat of his heart through his hoodie. His hands find your waist, the weight of them warm and steady through the thin fabric of your dress, like heâs grounding you and keeping himself grounded too.
You tilt your head up to meet him properly, rising slightly onto your toes without meaning to, and he bends down into you like the movement pulls something out of him. His fingers press carefully at your sides, thumbs shifting once against your waist. The kiss deepens then, your hand sliding up the front of his hoodie until youâre holding onto him too.
Riki exhales against your mouth, almost shaky, and his grip tightens for one second before he loosens it again, like heâs reminding himself to be careful.
Without so much as a few words, your gaze meets his. But thatâs not enough for him, not when he needs to hear that you want this too. The zipper you struggled with earlier starts undoing when his hand finds the back, before he leans in just enough for his voice to drop between you.Â
"Words, baby," he whispers.
He isn't teasing now. His voice is low, but careful, like he needs to hear you say it before he lets himself want anything more.
You swallow, fingers tightening lightly in his hoodie. "I want you."
Riki watches your face for a second, and when he sees the true genuineness and want in your eyes, he lets himself have it. He dips down to your height, capturing your lips in a kiss again, before fully pulling the zipper down to the small of your back. With barely any effort, the dress slides off your body and pools around your feet on the floor.Â
Too busy getting drunk on his plump lips, you donât even notice his hands roaming over your skin, his fingertips memorizing the arch of your spine, before gliding up to the curve of your ribcage. You donât notice how close he really is until his fingers find the underside part of your breasts. You pull away with a gasp, seeing him smile coyly when you finally realize youâre naked in front of him, and how heâs massaging your mounds in his hands.
He lets his thumbs brush your hardened nipples, watching your face scrunch and melt with fluster. He holds you so well, heat rushing all over your skin with the way he studies your body, eyes carefully taking in every detail about you. He continues stroking your nipples and massaging your breasts when he bends down again, kissing the corner of your lips before trailing over to your jaw. He presses open mouthed kisses on your pulse next, sucking and biting to leave love bites there.
You moan, all breathy and heavy, and his cock twitches in his sweats. For a man thatâs been so cautious with you, he canât help but fight the urge to pound into you recklessly right now.
âOn the bed,â he prompts softly, taking a step forward.Â
You obey with no fight, pathetically stepping backward until you sit back on the soft mattress. You adjust a little to get on your knees, eyes finding his through your lashes again. Heâs looking at you with half-open lids, hand already reaching up to the back of your head, fingers tangling with your hair. He likes you like this, on your knees and your face so fucking close to his bulge, he can practically see it.
And because he has been so kind to you, you want to recompense for all of it. Your fingers hook at the hem of his sweatpants, keeping your gaze steady on his face to watch the way he reacts when he realizes what youâre about to do. You drag his pants down, enough for it to slip down his legs.Â
His cock bulges in his briefs, begging to be set free. You cup it gently and he lets out a low moan, deeper than his usual, and when you look up, heâs just watching you. You lean in, only to lick a stripe from the bottom to top â his grip on your hair tightens, and you feel him pull you closer. Since you both donât hold any godly kind of willpower, you waste no time lowering the fabric.
Rikiâs stupidly long cock springs forward once you remove his briefs, and everything about it just makes sense. It isnât excessively thick in girth, but itâs length makes you wonder if it can even fit at all. Itâs pale at the base and turns pink towards the tip, the slit lathered with pre all over the head, all for you.
You bite your lip, not being able to help the thrilled grin on your face, eyes bright at the sight of it. He clears his throat, caressing the back of your head gently. âYou good?â
You snicker, reaching up to wrap your hand around the base. He chokes out a gasp, stilling completely yet his hips buck forward. He watches you handle him so delicately, even the way you start pumping his dick, watching the way pre-cum leaks out the tip. You lean forward, tongue flat against the head, tasting him.Â
âO-oh, s-shit ââ his breathing becomes heavy, arm flexing involuntarily as he keeps rubbing the back of your head.
You giggle, tilting your head a little to press soft pecks all over his length. âWatch me, sweet boy. Okay?âÂ
Youâre a fucking tease. Thatâs all he manages to come up with before his brain completely blanks out when you tilt forward and let your mouth close around the head of his dick. You start to suckle on it, tongue playing with the slit a little. Then you push forward, enough the tip touches the back of your throat and your cheeks hollow around his length.
And heâs still too fucking long.Â
You start choking a little, tears touching your waterline. You stroke the part you canât reach, and he canât help but smirk arrogantly.
Heavy breaths turns into deep groans, trying to keep his sounds to himself but the way you look as your head bobs on his dick, practically choking as you suck on it, and his hand flexing a tight grip on your hair â this has got to be better than any fucking narcotic ever. He bets morphine wonât ever feel this good. âY-youâre fucking sublime, baby,â
You retract your mouth, going back to suckle on the tip, before taking him all back down your throat. His hips jerk forward, you can tell just how gentle heâs trying to be even when heâs losing all control.Â
And itâs too good, because twenty years of chastity has started to reach him faster than the way you rub him. He feels his abdomen tighten, and fuck does his balls feel tense. So as any illogical, preposterous, unsound idiot ever, he pulls you away from his cock. He holds you by your hair, slowing you down as you stare up at him, eyes wide and confused, lips wet from your saliva and his fluids.
âWhat the fuck?â you mutter, catching your breaths.Â
Riki licks his bottom lip, and you can see every restraint holding him back from breaking you. The tips of his ears are red, and his eyes, once so tender and meticulous, looks down at you like he just canât wait to fuck you senseless. Theyâre sharper than they ever have been, and once since this night began, youâre scared.
âEasy,â he drawls, hand withdrawing from you completely. He takes a step back, just enough to admire the way you look, panting and on your knees, breasts exposed and perky. Then with a small smirk, he pinches the edge of his hoodie. âYou always this impatient?â
He slides the hoodie over his arms, the cloth revealing flesh that practically glow from your vanity lights. His chest and shoulder width is broad and wide, flat in that boyish way you love, expanding to the chiseled arms. You can feel yourself salivating at the muscles, at his taut abs, delicate grooves that trace down to a sharp v-line. Even his obliques and traps are so defined.
âGet on your back.â he rasps, and you donât let yourself react before lying down, head against your soft pillows. He kneels in between your legs, eyes trailing over your body. He hooks his fingers over the elastic of your panties, just before he slowly pulls them off you, slow enough to make you embarrassed.
âRiki,â you murmur sheepishly, but he ignores you, keeping his eyes narrowed to the way your cunt glistens, your own fluids leaking out of you. Sheâs perfect, and his already frustrated cock twitches.Â
Blonde hair sticks to his forehead, and his eyes are dark when your gaze meets again. He hovers over you, caging you against the bed before he leans in, kissing you again. Your lips part for him, breaths mingling, getting hot and heavy as his hand finds your ass. He squeezes the fat there, fingers digging into your skin. âYouâre making it hard to think, pretty girl.â
You manage a giggle, though it quickly turns to soft moans when he kisses your jaw and presses his cock against your cunt.Â
âRiki, please,â you can see how swollen his cock has gotten.
âI donât know if I can be gentle,â he breathes, his arms tensing as he keeps himself up. He strokes himself a bit, just before he aligns the tip with your aching hole.
Your brain has gone hazy, not being able to process anything other than the way he kisses your neck when the head of his cock pushes through your folds, and immediately your arms come to his back, nails digging into his muscles. He tenses too, giving a sharp exhale when his length slides past the tight muscle and rubs against your gummy walls.
âFuck,â he groans, burying his face against your neck while your teeth bite down your bottom lip. âG-god, thatâs so good,âÂ
His hips closes against your pelvis, while his tip brushes against your cervix so good heâs pretty sure youâre sucking him in. And you feel stuffed, more than you ever have been, by Rikiâs long cock. âGood fucking pussy, shit ââ
Your legs are open wide for him, pressing flat against the mattress. And thatâs enough for him, just to see you so spread beneath him, cunt squeezing him so tight; enough for him to pull back and watch the way your fluids wrap slick around his cock. Your hips wiggle for him, and thatâs all he takes before slamming his hips back into you.
Rikiâs jaw hangs open, a low moan gushing out him, strained and heavy into your ears.Â
âR-Riki â f-f-fuck ââ
The sounds of squelching pussy and skin slapping echoes throughout your entire room, walls so tight around his cock as you gasp. The pace is set already, quick and fucking drilling into you even though youâve known him for his care and caution â yet he pounds into you like he doesnât give a fuck about anything but his pleasure.
âS-s-so good â ugh, Riki â fuck,â you scratch his back muscles, tensing underneath your nails. His pelvis and abs are tight, slamming himself so hard against your cunt like he canât keep himself apart from you.
He continues groaning, his eyebrows furrowed, eyes half-lidded watching you, completely fucked out while he admires the way your tits bounce every time he rocks his dick deep into your cunt. His lips part to moan your name, and you love how he almost whimpers when you squeeze around him.Â
Then he stills, though only fast enough before he slides an arm beneath your waist and gathers you closer, like heâs scooping you into him without fully lifting you.Â
âW-what are you ââÂ
âOn your stomach.âÂ
You can only blink and nod, before turning around, suddenly feeling empty when his dick slips from inside you. You settle on your hands and knees, then lie on your chest, face pressed to the soft pillow. âFuck, my good girl.â
You canât see him anymore, and youâre not sure with how you feel about it â not until you feel his warm body press against your back, his chest hovering slightly over you. He presses a hand on the back of your thigh, gently adjusting your knee higher, the position immediately spreading your folds more than you would have thought.Â
âLift your hips for me, baby,â he breathes, voice low and strained.
You obey, pussy clenching around nothing when he whispers quiet praises as your ass perks up and your folds glisten for him again, slick oozing out from you. You get on your hands a little, just enough to lift yourself and look over your shoulder. Without much of a warning, he pushes his cock back deep inside you again, walls welcoming him with a dirty squelch, your breath catches, then escapes in a quiet gasp.
âThere, just like that ââ Riki moans, his v-line pressed tight against your ass.
Then he continues, retracting his hips only to slap back inside you. The new positions doing fucking wonders to you, stretching you a whole lot more, his dick fucking you so raw that you canât help the screams you let out. He presses his hands against your waist, fingers ingrained to lift your ass up and pound into you right after, grip so tight itâs already bruising.
You fuck yourself against him too, slapping back against his hips, cock choking in your tight walls. His eyes are almost rolling back, if not for how obsessed he is watching your ass shake and tits bounce every sloppy stroke, his hand sliding under you to grope your mound. He fondles with it, pinching your nipple and loving the weight of it against his palm.Â
Sweatâs getting hot and the airâs smells too much of sex, he can feel it when his balls clench and how desperate heâs starting to get.
You look over your shoulder and he meets you halfway, leaning over to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. Itâs full of saliva and itâs warm, messy in a way that tells how close you both are.
Then with so little strength (canât compare to Riki Nishimura, really), your weight falls back to the pillow, face and chest pressed against the softness while your ass stays up. If not for his large hands keeping you up and still, you wouldâve fallen over completely.Â
Your abdomen clenches and pressure builds in there, and he continues rutting into you while you become a puddle of sweat and moans. âR-right there â fuck, Riki â !â
âI-Iâm gonna fucking cum, s-shit â Iâll blow a fucking load in you ââ his hips drive into your pussy with a new kind of intensity, faster and deeper somehow, his tip hitting your cervix that has you throbbing around him.
âCum all over me, baby, please ââ he whines, face pressed against your shoulder.Â
You feel hot spurts of him fill you the same time your cunt clenches around him one final time, legs twitching while his hips come to a stutter. Cum settles in your hole, warm and full and sticky and practically seeping out of you. He collapses on top of you, unconsciously maybe, his heavier weight pressing over your body.
Your vision goes white for a bit, then it comes back, only for you to see hair all over your face, stuck with sweat and saliva. Heâs still on top of you, but you can feel him carry himself a little, making sure not to crush you right after cumming in you.
Quiet beats stretch out the moment, and you donât even notice his arm tucking underneath you to massage your tit, a tired laugh leaving your mouth when you do. When you both muster enough strength, he straightens just enough to lift himself off of you, while you manage to get on your hands. By the time you look over your shoulder, heâs already leaning in, his mouth finding yours again, a hand still fondling with your breast.
âRiki,â a small sheepish smile curves on your lips, all while he presses soft pecks against your mouth and jaw.Â
âHm?â he hums, tired and spent, clearly having nothing else to do but to kiss you. His breaths are still shallow, eyelids heavy before shutting completely.
You giggle, putting your hand over his on your breast. âGet off me,â you say with a playful grin. âYouâre so heavy!â
WIth a quiet groan, he listens. He slides out of you, unplugging you to let your fluids out. Then he lies down, and he hasnât realized how strained his muscles are until he sinks into the softness of your bed. He relaxes inevitably, while you stay up just to admire him for a bit.
Riki Nishimura is never going to be insecure about his looks, but the way you stare at him with dilated pupils that match his, especially post-sex, he canât help but grow a bit bashful.Â
He huffs out a laugh, one hand reaching out to squeeze your waist because you feel so far. "So do you have a no-cuddle policy, or," he murmurs.
You laugh before you can stop yourself because he's so stupidly funny for someone trying to sound serious. Instead of answering, you shake your head and lean more of your weight against one hand, the other resting against his chest as your fingers trace lazy, thoughtless shapes.
He watches you do it for a second, his expression going quiet in that way that makes your stomach turn. Then you glance up at him. "Can you roll one for me?"
He sighs so heavily it almost sounds personal. Before you can even react, his arm hooks around your waist and pulls you down against his chest, firm and immediate, like the idea alone offended him. Your hand lands against his abs to catch yourself, your cheek nearly brushing his shoulder as he keeps you there.
âThrow that shit away,â he says, voice low near your ear. âI swear to God.â
You blink, caught against him. âWhat?â His arm stays around you, warm and unmoving. âWhy?â
Riki looks at you with half-lidded eyes, sleepy and a little strained, like even answering takes effort. âBecause,â he murmurs, his grip softening at your waist, âafter tonight, I think I found something better.â
Your jaw actually falls open. For one second, all you can do is stare at him, because thereâs no way Riki Nishimura just said that to you while looking half-asleep and impossibly calm, like he didnât just say something that made your entire stomach turn over and tighten all over again.
Then you smack his chest lightly. âRiki.â
He chuckles, low and tired, the sound vibrating against your palm. His arm stays around your waist, keeping you close even when you try to lean back enough to glare at him properly.
âWhat?â he murmurs, eyes barely opening more. âUse my dick instead, I wonât get mad.â
You smack his chest harder, earning a yelp from him. âRiki!â
He laughs under his breath, but before you can pull your hand back, his fingers wrap around your wrist. His eyes open a little more as he looks at you, still tired, still amused, and then he tugs you.Â
You land over him, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips as his arm settles around your waist to steady you. For a second, neither of you moves. Your hand stays pressed to his chest, his heartbeat is faster than he's pretending. "Careful," he murmurs, like he wasn't the one who pulled you.
"You're so annoying," you whisper again, but it comes out softer this time, a quiet breath as you lean down to him. You're close enough now that your noses brush, close enough to feel his smile fade against your mouth.
Riki's gaze drops to your lips, then back to your eyes. Your fingers stay flat against the broad hardness of his chest while his hand stays warm at your waist, slowly smoothing over the curve of your ass.
âRide me?â he whispers against your lips.
You sigh, rolling your eyes while your mouth curves to a grin, back straightening. You act like you think about it, only for your exposed cunt to start grinding against his cock â which, obviously, because he is a very simple man, erects again.
A simple man such as he, all he knows is that he is yours.
contents. Feet fetish, reference to porn, anal, toys, mention of omorashi
a/n. this is rlly short :(
bullyriki! Whoâs an absolute pervert. He's popular, handsome and mean, but god he's absolutely disgusting when it comes to sex.Â
bullyriki! Who forbids you from shaving your pussy. He likes it hairy, something straight from his favorite pornos.Â
Riki's breath hitches for a split second as he sees the untouched, natural state of you, his smirk turning almost feral. âFuckâŚâ He mutters under his breath, eyes darkening with possessive hunger. His fingers drag through the thick hair, parting it to inspect your cunt. âDisgusting.â He lies through gritted teeth. âYou look like some wild animal.âÂ
bullyriki! Who accidentally found out he had a piss kink trying to humiliate you, and now it's his favorite way to play. He doesn't care where you guys are, if he wants to feel your warmth on his cock or in his mouth, then he'll get it.Â
bullyriki! Who genuinely tries to convince himself and you that he only likes having you piss yourself because of the control aspect of it. Not because he loves the taste and feel of it.Â
bullyriki! Who if he's been honest, is absolutely obsessed with anal. He loves watching your tight rim stretch around his cock, his fingers and the various toys he likes to bully your asshole with. His personal favorite is the glass plug he got you a few months ago, the heart shaped end always looks absolutely perfect nestled between your round ass when he fucks you from behind.Â
bullyriki! Who forces you into anal training, all so that one day, he can fit his whole fist inside your ass. He just wants to see your greedy hole swallow his fist full :(
bullyriki! Who also has a nasty feet fetish. He likes having his mouth on your feet, kissing and licking your pretty toes. But his favorite thing is having them on his cock, slowly stroking it, soft soles wet with spit and precum.Â
ŠRAVEN-UNKIND â  reblog, comments and likes are appreciated!
can u write something about being a piss dump for ceo jay or sunghoon!! innocent reader who's desperate for cash signs up to be his assistant when in reality she spends most of her time under his table drooling on his cock đ¤¤đ¤¤
a/n. UhâŚ. Might expand more of that last part⌠like⌠being Jayâs piss faucet đ¤¤
ceojay! Who's not what you expected when you showed up at his intimidating office after seeing the listing online. He's taller than you expected, more handsome and closer to you in age. Maybe in his late 20s? Early 30s?Â
ceojay! Who doesn't seem to know what a normal office helper does. You don't help with paperwork, you don't make phone calls, don't read emails. Your only job is to stay under his desk, tight little throat warming up his cock, and pussy ready to welcome warm streams of piss. Â
ceojay! Whoâs definitely as strict as you expected him to be.Â
"Stay still." Jay rasps from above you, his voice slightly muffled by the desk hiding you from view. Your cheeks are wet with tears, Jayâs cock nestled deep inside your throat, mushroom tip leaking salty precum.Â
ceojay! Who introduces you to becoming his pretty little piss dump a month after your throat becomes his property. He tells you to get under his desk, face down ass up, and push his thick cock inside.
âThere you goâŚâ He drawls, hot stream of piss leaking from his swollen tip, directly into your awaiting cunt. The sensation is foreign, but not unpleasant, your warm cunny slowly expanding to accommodate the warm liquid. You clench weakly around his tip, eager for more of him inside.Â
ceojay! Who has no regard whatsoever for your pleasure. Youâre his property and he'll use your body as he sees fit. It doesn't matter if you've been on the edge for hours or crying for overstimulation, cunt squirting pathetically after so much pleasure. All that matters to him is for you to provide a warm place for his cock, cum and piss.Â
ceojay! Who starts asking for your help even on your day off. He promises enough money as compensation for over time that you immediately agree, taking yourself to his penthouse like he asked.Â
ceojay! Who fucks and fills your ass so hard and deep that night that you're still full in the morning. He makes sure he's there to empty you, teasing your gaped asshole with the plug he forced in last night, before slowly pulling out. He marvels in watching the stream of piss escaping your hole, making a mess of his pristine bathroom floor.Â
ceojay! Who after that night starts developing a taste for making sure you're always full of him. Cum or piss, he doesn't care as long as both your holes are full and plugged.Â
ceojay! Who likes palming your full bladder when you've been really good. He loves the feeling of your bloated lower belly, something he aches to achieve with his own piss inside you.Â
âYouâre so fucking fullâŚâ Jay murmurs, his hand on your bloated belly, caressing the taunt skin. You squirm in his lap, the softest touches making you want to let go right on him. âJ-jay pleaseâ You whine softly, his hands moving with more pressure now, really testing just how full your bladder is. You can feel him smirk against your neck, his right hand trailing down to your cunt to play with your swollen clit. The action makes you whine, a small trickle of piss leaking from you. Jay hums approvingly, left hand pressing down on your bladder, silently encouraging you to pee yourself. You can only oblige, hot piss already soaking his fingers and seeping into his pants. You quickly make a mess of his laps but if anything, Jay is beyond turned on behind you. His cock is hard as rock, nestled between your ass and the feeling of your warmth on him could make him cum in his pants right here and there.
ceojay! Who always licks his fingers clean of your piss every time he plays with you, always marveling at the sharp, almost sweet taste you seem to have. And every time he does so, he only craves more.Â
ŠRAVEN-UNKIND â  reblog, comments and likes are appreciated!
You and your rival, Heeseung, are forced to sleep on the floor together after a late-night group project because all other spots are taken. What starts as annoyed bickering and reluctant closeness quickly turns into heavy sexual tension.
contents ; rivalxrival, ( 18+ ) minors dni ! enemies to complicated, semi public sx, unprotected sx ( not recommended ), swearing! , blowjob, m! receive, spooning sx .
listen to me while reading
You and Heeseung had been rivals since the moment you stepped into the academy. Sharp-tongued, competitive, and unwilling to yield even an inch to each other. That rivalry had only grown worse during this group project. For days now, the two of you had been clashing nonstopâespecially tonight.
The living room was dimly lit by a single lamp. The rest of the group had already given up and passed out, one sprawled across the couch, another curled up on the floor with a blanket. It was well past midnight, and the argument between you and Heeseung had dragged on far too long.
You finally threw your hands up. âYou know what? Forget it. Iâm tired. Iâm not wasting any more energy on this.â
You rolled your eyes, not even waiting for his reply. The only space left was a narrow strip on the edge of the floor. Great. Just great. You muttered under your breath, âDang itâŚâ and carefully stepped over the sleeping bodies, too exhausted to grab your blanket from your backpack. You collapsed onto the cold floor, lying on your side with your back facing the room.
A few minutes later, you heard footsteps. Heeseung stood there, scanning the room with a heavy sigh. Every decent spot was taken. The chairs were too uncomfortable for his back, and the only free space left⌠was right beside you.
He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly annoyed. For a second he hesitated, jaw tight. But exhaustion won. Without a word, he stepped over the others and lay down behind you, facing your back. The floor was barely wide enough for both of you. You could feel the faint warmth of his body just inches away, but you were too tired to turn around or care.
Until you shifted.
Your eyes fluttered open as your shoulder brushed against something solid. You turned your head slightly⌠and froze.
Heeseung was right there. Eyes closed, brows slightly furrowed even in sleep, his face mere inches from yours.
âWhat the fuck?!â you hissed under your breath, careful not to wake the others.
Heeseungâs eyes snapped open. For a split second, surprise flashed across his face, quickly replaced by that familiar look of irritation. He didnât move away.
âKeep your voice down,â he whispered sharply, voice low and rough from tiredness. âYou think I wanted this? Thereâs nowhere else, genius.â
You glared at him, heart beating faster than it should. âThen go sleep somewhere else. Iâm not sharing space with you.â
âYeah? And where exactly?â Heeseung shot back, voice barely above a whisper. His breath brushed against your cheek. âThe couch is taken. The floorâs full. Unless you want me to sleep on top of you, this is it.â
Your face burned. You hated how close he wasâclose enough to catch the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the tiredness in his eyes. Close enough that every small movement made your shoulders touch.
âMove one inch closer and I swear Iâll push you into the wall,â you muttered, turning your back to him again.
Heeseung let out a quiet, bitter chuckle. âTrust me, Iâd rather be anywhere but here too.â
But neither of you moved.
the silence stretched between you, the only sounds were the soft breathing of your sleeping groupmates and the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. You could feel the heat radiating from his body against your back, and no matter how much you told yourself it was just the rivalry making your pulse race⌠you knew the night had just gotten a lot more complicated.
A few minutes passed in heavy silence. You turned your face toward the wall, determined to ignore the boy behind you and force yourself to sleep.
But the floor was narrow and uncomfortable. One of your sleeping classmates behind Heeseung suddenly rolled over in his sleep and pushed against his back. The sudden force made Heeseung slide forward, pressing his chest flush against your back.
âShitâŚâ he mumbled, voice low and rough.
He quickly planted his hands on the floor, trying to keep some distance, but there was nowhere to go. The push had left almost no space between your bodies. You could feel the heat of him through your clothes, his breath brushing the back of your neck.
Your heart slammed in your chest. You turned your head slightly, only to find his face right thereâbarely a breath away. His dark eyes were open, staring directly at you. Your noses were nearly touching.
âWhat the hell are you doing?â you whispered sharply, cheeks burning.
âIâm not doing anything,â Heeseung hissed back, clearly frustrated. âThat idiot behind me pushed me. You think I want to be this close to you?â
His voice was quieter than usual, strained. One of his hands was still braced on the floor beside your waist, caging you in without meaning to. Every small movement made your bodies press together even more. You could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat against your back.
You glared at him, but the anger felt different nowâmixed with something nervous and warm that you refused to name.
âWell, move back,â you muttered.
âWhere?â Heeseung shot back, eyebrows furrowed. His gaze dropped to your lips for half a second before snapping back up. âThereâs literally no space. Unless you want me to climb over you.â
You swallowed hard. The tension between you was thicker than ever. The rivalry, the annoyance, the exhaustion⌠and now this forced, unbearable closeness.
Heeseung let out a slow, shaky breath. âJust⌠go back to sleep. Pretend Iâm not here.â
But neither of you moved. And neither of you closed your eyes.
You tried to ignore itâthat strange, fluttering warmth twisting low in your stomach. It wasnât anger. You knew anger too well when it came to Heeseung. This was something else. Something softer, heavier, You brushed it off, blaming it on exhaustion, on the way his body heat was seeping through your shirt like it had no right to.
But your body wasnât listening.
Every time you breathed, your back pressed a little more firmly against his chest. His heartbeat was steady but strong, and you could feel it syncing with yours in the quiet. His breath ghosted across the nape of your neck, warm and slightly uneven now.
âStop moving,â Heeseung muttered, voice so low it vibrated against your skin.
âIâm not,â you whispered back, sharper than you meant to. But you had shiftedâjust a littleâtrying to create even an inch of space that didnât exist. The movement only made your hips brush against his, and you both froze.
That flutter in your stomach dropped lower.
Heeseungâs hand, still braced on the floor near your waist, tightened slightly, fingers pressing into the hardwood like he was fighting the urge to grip something else. His forehead nearly touched the back of your head.
âFuck,â he breathed, so quietly you almost missed it. âThis is ridiculous.â
You didnât answer. You couldnât. Your throat felt tight, and that weird sensation was spreadingâwarmth crawling up your chest, heat pooling between your legs. You hated how aware you were of him. The faint scent of his skin, the way his thigh was almost slotted against yours, the solid line of his body curved behind you like it was made to fit there.
Another soft snore came from the guy behind him, and Heeseung got pushed forward again. This time there was no saving itâhis hips pressed flush against your ass, and you felt the unmistakable hardness growing there.
Your eyes widened. Heat flooded your face.
âHeeseungââ you started, voice barely a whisper, mmhalf something else.
âDonât,â he cut you off, strained. His lips were so close to your ear now. âDonât say anything. Itâs⌠itâs just biology, okay? Iâm tired. Youâre warm. Thatâs all.â
But he didnât pull away.
And you didnât shove him back.
Instead, you stayed perfectly still, heart hammering so hard you were sure he could feel it too. That flutter in your stomach had turned into a full ache now, low and insistent. Your thighs pressed together instinctively, and the small movement made you brush against him again.
Heeseung let out a shaky exhale through his nose, almost a hiss. His free hand twitched like he wanted to grab your hip but stopped himself halfway, fingers hovering just above your waist.
âYouâre shaking,â he observed quietly. There was no smugness in his voice for onceâjust raw tension.
âIâm not,â you lied.
His dark chuckle was barely audible. âLiar.â
The silence stretched again, heavier this time. Charged. You could feel every inch of where your bodies touchedâhis chest to your back, his hips to your ass, his knees slightly bent behind yours. The rivalry that usually burned between you felt like it was melting into something else entirely.
You turned your head just enough to glance at him over your shoulder. His eyes were already on you, dark and intense, pupils blown wide. His lips were parted, breath coming a little faster.
For a second, neither of you spoke.
Then Heeseungâs gaze dropped to your mouth again, longer this time.
ââŚIf you tell anyone about this,â he whispered, voice rough, âIâll make your life hell.â
You swallowed. âSame goes for you.â
But neither of you moved away.
And when his fingers finally brushedâbarelyâagainst your waist, you didnât push his hand off.
You squeezed your eyes shut tighter, trying desperately to force sleep to come.
One sheep⌠two sheep⌠three sheepâŚ
It was useless. The counting only made you more aware of your own breathing, which was too shallow. Every inhale pressed your back more firmly against Heeseungâs chest. Every exhale made you feel the hard line of his body even moreâespecially the unmistakable heat and stiffness nestled against your ass.
Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.
The warm flutter in your stomach had turned into a deep, throbbing ache between your thighs. You pressed them together again, but that only made it worse, sending a small shiver up your spine. You felt Heeseungâs breath hitch against the back of your neck.
âStop squirming,â he whispered, voice dangerously low and rough. His fingers, still hovering near your waist, finally settledâlightly, almost hesitantlyâon your hip. Not gripping. Just⌠resting there. Like he couldnât stop himself.
âIâm not squirming,â you hissed back, eyes still shut. âIâm trying to sleep. Shut up.â
But your voice came out breathier than you wanted. You bit your lip hard, counting again in your head. Four sheep... fifth sheep...
It didnât work. All you could focus on was the way his cock twitched against you when you shifted, the way his chest rose and fell faster now, the way his breath was scorching the sensitive skin of your nape.
Heeseung let out a quiet, frustrated groan, barely audible. His forehead dropped forward until it rested against the back of your head.
âYouâre killing me here,â he muttered, so close his lips brushed your hair. âJust⌠stop moving for five seconds.â
âIâm trying,â you snapped under your breath. Your hand clenched into a fist against the cold floor. âThis stupid feeling wonât go away. Damn itâŚâ
He went still.
âWhat feeling?â His voice had dropped even lower. dangerously curious.
You didnât answer. You couldnât. Admitting it out loud would make it too real.
But your silence said enough.
Heeseungâs fingers flexed on your hip, pressing just a fraction harder. Not pulling you back, but definitely not letting you escape either. His hips movedâbarelyâan involuntary little roll that pushed his hard length more firmly between your clothed cheeks.
You sucked in a sharp breath.
âFuckâŚâ he breathed, almost like a curse and a confession at the same time. âYou feel it too, donât you?â
You kept your eyes screwed shut, heart pounding wildly. The ache between your legs was getting unbearable, a slick warmth starting to gather in your panties. You hated how your body was betraying you, especially with him.
âI hate you,â you whispered, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.
Heeseung let out a soft, dark chuckle against your neck, the sound sending goosebumps racing down your arms.
âYeah?â His lips ghosted over your skin as he spoke. âThen why are you so warm right now? Why is your breathing all messed up?â
His hand slid slowly, cautiously, from your hip to your stomach, stopping just under your ribs.
You didnât push him away.
And when his thumb brushed in a small, soothing circle over your shirt, the sensation in your stomach flared hotter.
âDamn it, HeeseungâŚâ you whispered again, half plea, half surrender. Your eyes stayed closed, but your body leaned back into him just the tiniest bit.
You hissed through gritted teeth, voice barely above a breath, âStop moving, god damn itâstop moving.â
Your body was betraying you with every word. Even as you said it, your hips gave a tiny, involuntary push back against him, chasing the friction you were trying so hard to deny.
Heeseungâs breath stuttered hot against the back of your neck. His hand on your stomach tensed, fingers curling slightly into your shirt like he was anchoring himself.
âIâm notââ he started, but his voice cracked into a low, rough whisper. âFuck, youâre the one who keeps shifting.â
He was lying. Sort of.
Because even while he spoke, his hips rolled forward again, almost imperceptible, but enough to drag his hard cock more firmly against your ass. The thin fabric of your clothes did nothing to hide how much he wanted this. How much he hated wanting this.
You clenched your jaw, eyes still squeezed shut, trying to fight the slick heat pooling between your thighs. âThen stay still,â you hissed again, sharper this time. âOr I swear Iâll elbow you in the ribs.â
Heeseung let out a quiet, breathless scoff that sounded more like a groan. His forehead pressed harder against the back of your head, his lips now dangerously close to your ear.
âYou say thatâŚâ he murmured, voice dark and strained, ââŚbut your bodyâs not listening.â
His hand slowly slid lower on your stomach, stopping right at the waistband of your pants. Not dipping inside. Just resting there. Tempting.
You could feel his heartbeat hammering against your back, fast and unsteady. His cock throbbed once against you, and the sensation made your stomach flip hard.
âShitâŚâ he cursed under his breath. âYou have no idea how much I hate you right now.â
But he still didnât pull away.
Instead, his nose brushed the shell of your ear as he whispered, so quietly it was almost sinful
ââŚAnd you have no idea how badly I want to flip you over and shut that pretty mouth up.â
Your breath hitched loudly in the dark.
The ache between your legs pulsed.
And neither of you moved an inch.
You hissed under your breath, voice trembling with both fury and something far more shameful, âYouâre such a whore thenââ
The words barely left your lips before Heeseungâs grip on your waist tightened, pulling your hips back against him with a slow, deliberate grind. His hard cock pressed firmly between your ass cheeks, throbbing even through the layers of fabric.
He let out a low, dangerous chuckle right against your ear, the sound rough and dripping with irritation and lust.
âYeah?â he whispered hotly, lips brushing your skin. âIâm the whore? Then why the fuck are you so wet I can feel the heat through your clothes?â
Your face burned with humiliation. You wanted to snap back, to push him away, but your body was a traitorâyour back arched slightly, pressing harder into his chest as another involuntary shiver ran through you. Your thighs squeezed together, but that only made the aching throb between your legs worse.
Heeseungâs hand slid lower, fingers teasing just beneath the hem of your shirt, brushing bare skin. His breath was ragged now.
âSay it again,â he taunted quietly, voice dark. âCall me a whore while your ass keeps rubbing against my dick like youâre begging for it.â
You bit your lip hard, trying to stay quiet as his hips rolled again, filthy, grinding into you with just enough pressure to make your head spin. The slickness between your thighs was undeniable now, your panties growing damp and sticky.
âI hate you,â you breathed, but it came out like a moan instead of an insult.
Heeseung smirked against your neck, teeth grazing your skin for a split second.
âLiar,â he murmured. His fingers dipped a little lower, tracing the waistband of your pants. âYour bodyâs telling the truth. So fucking honest right nowâŚâ
He pushed forward again, trapping you tighter between his body and the floor. The tension was suffocating.
Neither of you was sleeping tonight.
âI- I canât take this anymore,â you hissed, eyes squeezed shut so tightly you saw sparks behind your lids.
Your voice cracked with frustration, shame, and something far needier. The ache between your legs had become unbearableâhot, slick, and pulsing with every tiny shift of his body against yours. You hated how desperate you sounded. You hated even more that it was true.
Heeseungâs breath hitched sharply against your neck. For a second he went completely still, as if your words had stunned him. Then his hand on your waist gripped harder, fingers digging into your skin through your shirt like he was barely holding himself back.
âCanât take what?â he whispered, voice low, dark, and dangerously close to your ear. âCanât take me being this hard against you? Or canât take how badly you want it?â
He rolled his hips forward again, slower this time, more intentional. His clothed cock dragged firmly between your ass cheeks, pressing right against where you were throbbing the most. A quiet, broken sound escaped your throat before you could stop it.
Heeseung cursed under his breath.
âFuck⌠youâre shaking,â he murmured, almost like he was in pain. His lips brushed the shell of your ear as he continued, âYouâve been grinding back on me for the last ten minutes, acting like you hate it. But we both know thatâs bullshit.â
His hand slid lower, boldly slipping under the hem of your shirt until his palm was flat against your bare stomach. The heat of his touch made your muscles jump.
You kept your eyes closed, biting down hard on your lip. Your breathing was ragged now, chest rising and falling too fast.
âI hate you,â you whispered again, but it sounded wrecked
Heeseung let out a soft, mocking laugh that vibrated against your back.
âYeah? Then tell me to stop,â he challenged quietly, his fingers slowly tracing circles on your skin, inching dangerously lower toward the waistband of your pants. âTell me to get the fuck away from you right now⌠and Iâll try.â
His hips gave another lazy, teasing grind, pressing his hardness right against your ass as if to prove his point.
You didnât say it.
You couldnât.
Instead, your head tilted back slightly, unconsciously offering more of your neck as a broken exhale left your lips.
Heeseungâs voice dropped even lower, barely audible, rough with want.
âThatâs what I thought.â
His fingers finally dipped just beneath the waistband of your pants, hovering there, waiting.
âLast chance,â he breathed against your skin, lips brushing the sensitive spot right below your ear. âTell me to stop⌠or tell me what you really need.â
His hand stilled, but his cock kept throbbing insistently against you.
Your heart was hammering so loud you were scared it would wake the others.
âShut up,â you hissed, voice shaking with frustration and raw need. âJust fucking start already.â
Before Heeseung could even respond, you pushed your ass back against him harder, grinding deliberately against the thick, hard length straining in his pants. At the same time, you grabbed his wrist and yanked his hand upward, shoving it under your shirt until his palm was cupping your breast.
Heeseungâs entire body jerked against you.
âFuckââ he choked out in a strangled whisper, eyes widening in the dark.
You tugged your shirt higher yourself, bunching it up just below your collarbone, exposing your bare chest to his touch. No bra. His warm, rough hand immediately squeezed your breast, thumb brushing over your already hard nipple.
Heeseung let out a low, shaky groan right against your neck, hips rolling forward to meet your grinding. His cock twitched hard against your ass as he palmed your breast greedily, squeezing and kneading like heâd been dying to touch you.
âYouâre actually insane,â he breathed, voice wrecked. âPushing your tits into my hand while calling me a whoreâŚâ
He pinched your nipple between his fingers, rolling it slowly, sending a sharp spark of pleasure straight down between your legs. You bit your lip hard to keep quiet, but a tiny whimper still escaped.
Heeseungâs other arm slid under you, wrapping around your waist and pulling you even tighter against his body. His hips started moving in slow, filthy grindsâpressing his clothed cock between your cheeks like he was fucking you through the fabric.
âKeep doing that,â he whispered hotly against your ear, lips brushing your skin with every word. âKeep rubbing your ass on me like a needy little slut.â
His hand on your breast grew rougher, squeezing harder as his breathing turned ragged. He rolled your nipple again, then slid his hand to your other breast, giving it the same attention while his hips kept that slow, torturous rhythm against you.
You could feel how wet you were nowâyour panties soaked, the ache almost painful.
Heeseung pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the back of your neck, then lightly dragged his teeth there.
âTell me how far you want this to go,â he murmured, voice dark and dangerous, âbecause if you keep pushing back on my dick like that⌠Iâm not gonna be able to stop.â
His fingers pinched your nipple again, harder this time, as if daring you to moan loud enough for someone to wake up.
You leaned back closer into him, lips barely brushing his jaw as you whispered hotly against his skin,
âDonât stop then⌠or are you scared? Show me how brave you are.â
The challenge had barely left your mouth before Heeseung snapped.
He didnât hesitate. Not even for a second.
With a sharp, impatient tug, he yanked his sweatpants down just enough to free his cock. It sprang out, heavy and burning hot against your skin. In the same movement, his other hand roughly pulled your jogging pants and panties down in one swift motion, dragging them halfway down your thighs.
Cold air hit your bare ass and soaked pussy for only a moment before Heeseung pressed forward again. His thick, bare cock slid right between your thighs, gliding along your dripping folds.
âFuckâŚâ he growled low in your ear, voice trembling with restraint. âYouâre soaked.â
He rocked his hips, letting his cock slide back and forth between your thighs, the head bumping teasingly against your swollen clit with every pass. One of his hands returned to your breast, squeezing hard, while the other gripped your hip, fingers digging into your skin as he held you in place.
âYou talk so much shit,â he breathed, dragging his cock slowly along your slit again, coating himself in your wetness, âbut look at you⌠pushing your bare pussy against me like a desperate whore.â
You bit down hard on your lip to stop yourself from moaning. The feeling of his hot, hard length sliding between your folds was driving you insane. Every slow thrust made the head of his cock nudge your entrance before sliding back up to rub your clit.
Heeseung leaned in, lips pressed right against your ear as he whispered darkly,
âYou wanted brave?â
He pulled his hips back slightly, angled himself, and pushed forward.
The thick head of his cock pressed against your entrance, slowly stretching you open as he started sinking inside you from behind, inch by inch.
He groaned quietly into your hair, the sound rough.
âShit⌠youâre so fucking tight.â
He didnât stop. He kept pushing deeper, filling you up slowly but relentlessly, his hand tightening on your breast as he buried himself to the hilt inside you.
Both of you froze for a second, breathing hard, bodies locked together on the floor.
Then Heeseungâs hips started moving â slow, deep, filthy thrusts, careful not to make too much noise but hard enough that you felt every inch of him dragging inside you.
âStill think Iâm scared?â he rasped against your neck, biting down lightly as he fucked you. âTell me how brave I am nowâŚâ
âFuck⌠fine,â you gasped, voice barely a whisper, trembling. âYouâre brave⌠fuck, youâre braveââ
You turned your head just enough to glance back at him over your shoulder. Your eyes met in the dim lamplight, and you stared at himâlips parted, biting down hard on your lower lip to keep from moaning too loud.
Heeseungâs dark gaze burned into yours, pupils blown wide with lust. Sweat already clung to his forehead, his jaw clenched tight as he buried himself deep inside you with another slow, powerful thrust.
âYeah?â he breathed hotly against your mouth, lips hovering just inches from yours. âSay it again while Iâm balls-deep in you.â
He snapped his hips forward harder this time, burying his cock to the hilt. A broken whimper escaped you before you could stop it. The stretch was intense, the angle perfect, every thick inch dragging against your walls in the most filthy way.
Heeseungâs hand slid up from your breast to grip your jaw, turning your face further toward him so he could watch you while he fucked you. His thrusts stayed deep and steady â controlled, but getting rougher with every roll of his hips.
âLook at me,â he whispered roughly, eyes never leaving yours. âLook at me while youâre creaming all over my cock like you hate me.â
You bit your lip harder, eyes fluttering but refusing to close. The wet, quiet sound of skin meeting skin was barely masked by the heavy breathing between you. Every thrust pushed you forward slightly on the floor, his body completely molded to yours from behind.
âFuck⌠you feel so good,â he groaned lowly, the confession slipping out like he hated admitting it. His grip on your jaw tightened as he leaned in and caught your lips in a messy, desperate kiss â all tongue and teeth, trying to swallow down both your moans.
He broke the kiss only to press his forehead against yours, panting.
âStill rivals?â he taunted in a husky whisper, slamming into you a little deeper, grinding his hips in small circles so his cock rubbed against that perfect spot inside you. âOr are you finally admitting youâve been dying for me to fuck you stupid?â
His free hand slipped down between your legs, fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing tight, slick circles as he kept thrusting.
Your whole body trembled. You stared back at him, eyes glassy with pleasure, lips still bitten red.
Heeseung smirked against your mouth, dark and satisfied.
âThatâs what I thought.â
He kissed you again, harder this time, hips picking up pace as much as he dared without waking the others.
Heeseung kept thrusting into you with deep, measured strokes, each one dragging a silent gasp from your throat. The pleasure was overwhelming, making your mind hazy.
You reached forward, pressing your hand flat against the cold wall for leverage, trying to steady yourself as his hips rocked into you from behind.
Heeseung noticed immediately.
Without warning, he hooked one arm under your knee and yanked your leg up and wider, spreading you open even more. The new angle let him sink impossibly deeper, his cock hitting a spot that made your eyes roll back.
âHeeseungâŚâ you whimpered breathlessly, the name slipping out like a broken plea.
âFuck,â he groaned quietly against your neck, voice rough and strained. âSay my name like that again.â
He held your leg high, fingers digging into your thigh as he fucked you harder â still trying to stay quiet, but the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy was getting louder. His other hand stayed braced on the floor near your waist, caging you in while he drove into you with long, filthy strokes.
Every thrust pushed your chest harder against the floor, your shirt still bunched up, nipples rubbing against the fabric. Your hand on the wall curled into a fist as pleasure shot through you.
âHeeseung⌠ahââ you gasped again, biting your lip right after to muffle the sound.
He leaned over you, chest pressed flush to your back, lips right against your ear as he panted.
âYeah? You like that?â he whispered, voice dark and mocking even while he was buried inside you. âLegs spread open for me on the fucking floor while our group is sleeping right next to us?â
He snapped his hips forward sharply, grinding deep, his cock rubbing perfectly against that sensitive spot inside you with every roll.
Your eyes fluttered, another soft âHeeseungâŚâ escaping before you could stop it.
He smirked against your skin and bit down lightly on your shoulder, thrusting faster, deeper, chasing the pleasure he could no longer control.
âKeep saying my name like that,â he breathed, voice husky, âand I wonât be able to stop even if someone wakes up.â
His fingers on your thigh tightened, spreading you even wider as he fucked you relentlessly.
âIâm gonna cum⌠fuckâ Heeseung,â you gasped, voice shaking and barely a whisper as your walls started clenching hard around his cock.
Heeseungâs breath hitched sharply. His eyes darkened instantly at your words.
âShitâ already?â he hissed against your ear, but there was clear satisfaction dripping from his tone. He yanked your leg even higher, spreading you obscenely wide as he fucked you deeper, faster, more desperately.
His hips snapped against your ass with wet, muffled slaps. He pressed his forehead hard against the back of your head, panting heavily.
âThen cum,â he growled lowly, voice rough and commanding. âCum on my cock like the needy little slut you are. Right here. On the fucking floor.â
Heeseungâs hand left your thigh and slid down between your legs, rubbing tight, fast circles on your swollen clit while he kept pounding into you from behind.
Your hand on the wall trembled. Your whole body tensed, thighs shaking violently as the pressure built unbearably fast.
âLook at me,â he demanded in a harsh whisper.
You turned your head just enough. The second your eyes met his â dark, intense, and burning â your orgasm crashed into you.
You bit down hard on your own arm to muffle the moan that tried to rip out of you. Your pussy clenched and fluttered wildly around his thick cock, gushing slick heat as you came hard.
Heeseung groaned through gritted teeth, eyes locked on your face the entire time, watching you fall apart.
âFuckâ thatâs it⌠good girl,â he rasped, still thrusting through your orgasm, drawing it out. âSo fucking tight when you cum.â
Your body kept shaking, waves of pleasure rolling through you as he fucked you through it. Heeseungâs rhythm started to falter, his own breathing turning ragged and desperate.
He buried his face in your neck, biting down to stay quiet as his hips stuttered.
âIâm closeââ he warned, voice strained, hips slamming into you a little harder. âWhere do you want it?â
His cock throbbed violently inside you, clearly right on the edge.
âMy mouth,â you whispered desperately, voice hoarse and trembling. âCum in my mouth.â
Heeseungâs eyes flashed with raw hunger at your words. He let out a shaky, almost pained exhale.
âFuck⌠youâre filthy,â he groaned quietly, but the way his cock twitched hard inside you told you how much he liked it.
Without wasting another second, he pulled out of you slowly, his thick length glistening with your juices. You quickly turned around on the floor, facing him. Heeseung sat up slightly, leaning back against the wall while you moved between his legs.
He gripped your hair tightly with one hand, guiding your head down as his other hand stroked his slick cock a few times.
You didnât hesitate.
You wrapped your lips around his throbbing tip, tasting yourself on him as you took him into your warm, wet mouth. Heeseungâs head fell back, jaw clenched tight as he fought to stay quiet.
âShitâ just like that,â he whispered, voice wrecked. His hips bucked up gently, pushing more of his cock into your mouth. âSuck it⌠fuck, your mouth feels so good.â
You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, tongue swirling around the underside as you bobbed your head. Heeseungâs grip on your hair tightened, breathing fast and ragged.
âIâm so fucking closeââ he warned, eyes locked on your lips stretched around him.
A few more strokes of your mouth and he broke.
With a choked, quiet groan, Heeseung came hard. Thick, hot spurts of cum filled your mouth as his cock pulsed against your tongue. He kept his hand in your hair, holding you there while he emptied himself, hips twitching.
You swallowed every drop, sucking him gently through the aftershocks until he was shuddering and oversensitive.
Finally, he pulled you off with a shaky breath, chest heaving. His dark eyes stared down at you, lips parted, sweat on his forehead.
For a moment, the two of you just looked at each other in the dim light â faces flushed, breathing heavy, the rivalry still burning underneath everything⌠but now mixed with something much more dangerous.
Heeseung wiped the corner of your lip with his thumb, then pushed it into your mouth so you could lick it clean.
âYouâre going to be the death of me,â he whispered, voice low and rough.
He pulled you up and against his chest, both of you still half-naked on the floor, hearts still racing.
The next morning came too quickly.
You were already fully dressed, curled up on your side when a bright, cheerful voice echoed through the living room.
âKids! Breakfast is ready~ Come eat before it gets cold!â
Your classmateâs mom clapped her hands a few times, her footsteps moving around the room as she gently shook the others awake. Groans and sleepy complaints filled the air as everyone started stirring.
You stretched your arms above your head with a soft groan, your back popping slightly. Your body felt sore in the best and worst ways â thighs aching, a faint throb between your legs, and the unmistakable reminder of last night with every small movement. You quickly sat up, fixing your messy hair and avoiding looking toward Heeseung.
But you could feel him.
Heeseung was already awake, sitting up a few feet away. His hair was tousled, eyes still heavy with sleep, and there was a faint red mark on his neck that definitely wasnât there yesterday. He glanced at you the moment you moved, his gaze dark and unreadable.
For a split second, the memory hit you hard â his cock in your mouth, the way he groaned your name so quietly, the taste of him on your tongue.
Your cheeks burned.
âMorning everyone!â your classmateâs mom called again, smiling brightly. âThereâs rice, eggs, and soup. Hurry up before the boys eat everything!â
The others slowly got up, yawning and stretching, completely oblivious. One of them even stepped over the exact spot where Heeseung had fucked you just hours ago.
You stood up and brushed off your clothes, pretending to be normal. But as you turned, Heeseung was suddenly right beside you, close enough that his arm brushed yours.
He leaned in slightly while everyone else was distracted, his voice low and rough against your ear.
âSleep well?â he asked, the corner of his mouth twitching with a smug little smirk. âYou were moving around a lot last night.â
Your stomach flipped.
You shot him a sharp glare, cheeks heating up again. âShut up,â you hissed under your breath. âNot a single word.â
Heeseungâs smirk only grew. He looked far too satisfied for someone who was supposed to be your rival.
As you both walked toward the dining area with the group, he stayed annoyingly close. His fingers brushed against the back of your hand for half a second â not quite holding it, but definitely not accidental.
You elbowed him lightly in the ribs.
âAsshole,â you muttered.
âNeedy little liar,â he whispered back, so quietly only you could hear.
You sat down at the table across from each other. Every time your eyes met, the tension crackled. Heeseungâs gaze kept dropping to your lips for a second too long, like he was remembering exactly how they looked wrapped around him.
You kicked his leg under the table.
He kicked back.
But neither of you could hide the faint flush on your cheeks⌠or the way your heart raced every time he looked at you.
The rivalry wasnât gone.
It had just become something much more complicated.
