✧ "...the secret to happiness is to desire only what you have..." -blurb to go gentle by maria semple.
✧ yang jungwon (enhypen) x fem! reader
✧ word count: 5.5k
✧ content warning(s): MDNI, nsfw, DUBCON, sub! jungwon, reader is older than jungwon (referred to as "noona" + brief mentions of an undisclosed career), jungwon is constantly getting blueballed, male masturbation/sexting, reader is repressed and also lowkenuinely purposefully repressing herself
✧ divider by diviniyae
✧ requests are OPEN!
You weren’t ignoring Jungwon on purpose.
In your eyes, there was simply so much to do in this wide, wide world, and you only got one golden, fleeting life to as much as you possibly could. Why spend your days wallowing around in your self-ordained misery when you could do something to make yourself happy? So that’s the mantra you kept repeating to yourself as you milked your mundane life for whatever mundane joys it could offer.
You took the long way home, smiling to yourself whenever you noticed the butterflies twirling in the air or the blades of green grass shooting up amongst the cracks in the concrete. You scoured your neighborhood for postcards, simply for the novelty of snail mail, and spent the better part of an hour decorating them with whatever ragtag stickers and washi tape you had lying around the house. You strolled around town and snapped pictures of a hatched robin’s egg on the sidewalk, interspersed between soft ‘hello’s and ‘how are you’s to your neighbors.
And if you wanted to justify your more Luddite-esque behavior with Jungwon in context, your hobbies were great ways to pass the time. Tour or comeback season meant he’d be out of the house for weeks and months at a time, with only a dutiful text or two every day to remind you that out of sight definitely didn’t mean out of mind with him. When he was back home, it wasn’t uncommon for you to end up quarantined quietly in the bedroom for a few hours while he went on live or scrolled through Weverse to interact with his fans.
You’re grateful for the independence. You repeat it to yourself over and over again, and with enough repetition, the reframing becomes a useful way to keep the loneliness at bay and remind you that you’re the one in charge of your own life.
But all of that’s only applicable for when you’re alone.
“Noonaaaaa,” Jungwon whines. You sit stoically propped up against the headboard, legs outstretched in front of you. Your eyes flit from the book in your hands towards your boyfriend, who blinks back at you owlishly. Only after you raise an eyebrow at him wordlessly does he break out into a charmingly boyish grin. “I’m bored. Let’s do something fun together.”
“In a bit. I just want to finish this chapter,” you reply. You can’t help but feel a little bit like a parent chastising a hyperactive child. The pangs of fatigue spread their crawling fingers across your hips and shoulders, reminding you that you should probably tuck into bed sooner rather than later. But god, your book is finally starting to get good, and if you don’t figure out what happens next, you might actually stay up all night out of sheer anticipation.
“Noonaaaaaaaaaaaaa.” He draws the syllables out as long as he can. A hand sneaks up your legs, and you swallow thickly when he squeezes needily at the plush of your thighs. “I need you. It’s been so long… You’re so stiff too. Let me help you relax.”
You keep a placid expression. His palm feels right at home at your legs, fingertips rolling and kneading at your flesh. “I said in a bit, Jungwon. If you’re going to keep interrupting my reading, then I’m never going to finish.”
He sticks his pretty lips out into a pout. If you’re a strict adult, then you know perfectly well that Jungwon is leaning as hard as he can into guilt-tripping you using his wiles. To placate him, you reach over to pinch at one of his cheeks. He careens into your touch, practically gluing the side of his face to the curve of your palm, his own hands flying from your legs to grip at your wrist. Your heart flutters inside of your chest at how starved he acts for your attention. You do your best not to let it get to your head. He’s a popular K-pop idol, and with what seems like the whole world fixating its gaze on every single breath he takes, the most you can do for him is to curb your own appetite and let him take the relationship on his own terms.
The last thing he needs, amidst his many demanding responsibilities and insistent fans, is a needy girlfriend at home to add to his endless worries. You’re supposed to be his safe space, the one person who demands nothing from him. You’ll be happiest in your relationship with him with what you can get, and the faster this becomes part of your flesh and blood, the less every little infraction or day left alone will hurt in eventuality.
“Noona has such pretty hands.” Jungwon’s mouth moves over your knuckles, and he kisses them breathlessly. He takes your thumb and holds it right at the apex of his bottom lip. Your fingertip threatens to breach into his mouth, and if he wanted to, he could easily shove you in and lose himself to the taste of your skin against his tongue. Sucking, licking, letting you overtake his immediate senses.
But he doesn’t. He stops, and he lets you decide. Pleading eyes peer back at you, and your reflection stares back from Jungwon’s watery irises.
Ah.
He’s horny.
You had suspected as much when he sidled up to you with that intent glimmer in his eyes. His grabbiness only fanned the flames of your suspicion, but there’s no room for doubt if he’s being this overt. Your breathing thins, and you can feel the slow and tantalizingly familiar roll of heat that stirs in your core.
He wants you. The book in your other hand is heavy, a deadweight wrought from iron and restraint rather than its feathery pages and wispy language. You’ll only be happy with what you have, and wanting outside of your means is sure to bring nothing but disappointment and despair when you can’t have it all. You swallow again, your spit thick and heavy as he blinks slowly at you, all cat-like and coy.
When his grip on you slackens, you calmly retract your hand.
“Jungwon.”
The sternness in your voice is unmistakable. You let his name hang in the air. You don’t need to shout, don’t need to go on and on to make sure the discipline hits. All you need is his name, two simple syllables, and the night unfurls its endless potential to you with open arms.
And you return blissfully to your reading.
Thu, Aug 6 - 11:47 AM
sheep garden: (sheep garden is typing…)
sheep garden: Noona
sheep garden: Are you alone?
You: ?
You: Is everything okay? Aren’t you at work?
You: If you need something, then yes, I can be alone.
You: Let me go into the hallway quickly.
sheep garden: I’m going to send you something.
...
Needless to say, you didn’t fuck him last night.
Your heart drops to your stomach as your mind rapid-fire shuffles through every possible thing that could have gone wrong to have Jungwon texting you in such a cryptic manner. You’re at work yourself, but you snatch up your earbuds and hurriedly excuse yourself. You slip into an isolated corner of the hallway where you know you won’t be disturbed. Jungwon always texts you with lots of care and love, the occasional cheeky jondaemal sprinkled amongst hearts and compliments just to drive you up the wall. He’s never this formal, which is why the alarms in your head go off immediately.
Is he hurt? Has a scandal occurred? Did something bad happen to one of the other members? You grip your phone as you somehow telepathically try to reverse the bad energy running through your head, as if leering hard enough at the merciless blare of the blu-ray screen will manage to change the hand of fate itself.
What’s taking Jungwon so long to get back to you? You don’t know what to do with the panic that’s swirling around in your head. Your chest tightens, and you’re almost overcome with the incessant need to pace, to walk aimlessly up and down the empty hallway, just to have something to do with all the nervous energy spiking inside your body. It’s like the worst version imaginable of going too high on a roller coaster or looking down from a skyscraper. All this fear with nowhere to direct it to, trepidation working its way up your guts and gullet like you’re drowning in callous waves.
You pop in your earbuds, just about to throw caution to the wayside and call Jungwon when the telltale ‘ping’ of your instant messaging app cleaves through your muddled thoughts. You scramble to get your phone straight in your fumbling hands. Your eyes strain to make sense of what it is he just sent to you, and you’re praying—praying, praying, praying that the worst isn’t upon any of you.
You nearly drop your phone.
Yang Jungwon, you bastard—
Your fingers curl around the edges of your phone, and you slam yourself back against the wall. Your skull hits the hard material with a dull ‘thunk,’ and you seal your eyes closed. You suck in a breath through your nose, one so deep that it actually starts to hurt your lungs towards the end, and you methodically exhale. There’s no word for the pit of dread that rips through your stomach, the apocalyptical march of your heart seizing inside of your ribcage, the weakness that obliterates your legs and makes your knees knock together.
Yang Jungwon, you fucking bastard—
Virtue. Happiness. Temperance. The concepts you had strove so hard to master and maintain. They ricochet inside your brain, flapping and fluttering all over as if they’re caged birds set free. Inviting you to get yourself under control again, to reach out with outstretched hands to choose goodness and kindness and the moral high road. You should. You know you should.
Yang Jungwon, you absolute fucking bastard—
You’re going to kill him. You don’t even know what emotion is searing through your breast right now. Relief and anger crisscross in a wicked dance until they’re braided together in an interminable knot, gripping like an inextricable fist around your arteries.
Staring back up at you, emblazoned across the low blaring light of your screen, is a video. A video of your beloved, adorable, wonderful boyfriend. A video of your awful, selfish, insatiable Jungwon with his dick in his one hand, wrapped tightly around the thick base, swollen and hard and throbbing.
You almost shriek and drop your phone when the video comes to life. Sound fills your ears, and a wall of heat slams into your face. You angle your phone downwards, fighting to keep your expression straight when everything flooding through your system is making you feel downright feral.
“Noona- Noonaaaaa,” his voice echoes in your ears. Even without looking at the video, the distinct, wet sh-lick sh-lick sound of his hand fisting his cock is so dastardly recognizable. God, where the fuck is he? Isn’t he at work right now? Did he sneak off somewhere to jerk off and then send you a video of it?
There’s just no way. The proof is right there in your hands, but there’s simply no way. This is Jungwon you’re talking about. He takes his job as an idol with as much seriousness as he possibly can. He puts his work first before anything else, always making sure to dot his Is and cross his Ts. He’s not the kind of man to wander off from his work of all things to chase some kind of hedonistic, self-serving high. His own dedication aside, he knows you’re at work and shouldn’t be distracted in such a manner.
“Want you so bad-,” he groans from the video. He angles his phone, making sure you get a good glimpse at how hard he is. He’s so big. He’s so hard that it looks like it might hurt. Need drips from his voice as he tugs at his cock, rutting against the ridges of his palm. “Wish it was you- Wish you were here to help me, noona- I couldn’t stop thinking about you today… Your voice- Your face- Your hands-”
If a sinkhole appeared under your work building and made your entire world cave in, you’d manifest it to happen. You’re so immensely thankful that Jungwon at least had the sense to make sure you were alone before sending this to you. How are you supposed to act like everything's normal after this? How are you supposed to walk back to your desk with a straight face and make pleasant conversation with your clients and coworkers when your phone will surely be burning a hole in your pocket? When you have a video of your idol boyfriend with his cock and balls out begging for you and you have to act like nothing took place?
As if on cue, Jungwon’s breathy moans rock against your ears. “You’re always so mean to me, noona. You always make me work so hard- But I like that so much- I like it when you make me work this hard. You make me feel so selfish- I can’t help it though, I want to be selfish when it comes to you…”
So slick. So hot. Pre-cum drips from his swollen tip, his cock jumping and twitching with each stroke. Your head spins as you try to envision how he must be imagining you. Is this how he thinks of you? You were just doing your best to temper your own heart for his sake. It’s not like you were being mean to him on purpose. It’s not like that, you swear on your life. You weren’t intending on riling him like this.
Oh god. Screw what your work place buddies and your job might think. How the hell are you going to face him once you’re home? When it’s just you and him between the enclosed walls, and all you have to your name is your weirdly self-ascribed prudence? Your core clenches, and despite some deeply vested part of your mind wishing you had the fortitude to push this all away and focus on being a good, responsible adult, your body can’t ignore everything that’s been building up.
His cock looks so good. Your cunt pulses as you imagine it sinking into you, stretching out just right, eyes glazing over. Jungwon’s the only person who could make you fluctuate freely in between extremes like this. You need to keep your taut grip on your life, but in the same breath, you want him to wrench all the control from you in the way he’s doing right now. He’s got your thoughts in a scramble, and you’re going to have to make a beeline to the bathroom once this is all over just to spend a few minutes burning in shame while hunched over the toilet. Not even to jerk off yourself, just to get your head back on your shoulders and wad up some toilet paper to scrub away at the slick that’s most definitely pooling at the seat of your panties.
His voice keens up into a higher pitch, and his words blur together. His once-somewhat sentences stutter, devolving into whimpers and breathless grunts. “Noona- Fuck- Hah- Noonaaaaa- ‘m gonna- Please- Want you, want you so bad-”
He’s close. The camera’s shaking, and you know him too well to think otherwise. You clamp a hand down over your mouth, physically restraining yourself as if you’re scared you’re going to make a sound. You won’t, and you can’t. Not when you’re this appalled, so stunned that you don’t think you could scream even if your life depended on it in that instant.
His final strokes are sloppy and wild. Jungwon usually fucks with precision and hones in on delivering as much pleasure as he possibly can to you with each movement, but the mindless way his hips are bucking into his fist are anything but. His cock moves so easily now that it’s all wet and slick, all because of you. Just the thought passing against the forefront of your mind makes you feel like passing out.
His cock! His fucking cock! His stupid cock! Veins standing at attention, so much blood rushing to it to keep it hard and thick, just the way you like it, showing it off so proudly in hopes that it can turn your head. Your heart threatens to stop beating. Ropes of white cum shoot out of him with a strangled cry of that damned honorific, and you’re left recoiling against the wall, panting just as depravedly as Jungwon is inside the video: all short of breath and dizzy and forbiddenly galvanic.
“Hah- Hahhh- Love you- Love you so much, noona,” Jungwon endearingly chokes out. You can hear the slight uptick in his words, the cocky smile behind the camera. “…I can’t wait to see you after work. Let’s have lots of fun together, okay?”
And then the video ends.
It’s as if it didn’t exist. It’s over so abruptly that it’s as if it never happened. The irony of it makes you sick. It couldn’t have been longer than a few minutes, but those few minutes have felt, quite literally, like a lifetime. You’re stupefied and speechless and shrinking against the corner of the hallway. You’re less and less like the self-assured person you had endeavored so sensibly to embody and now threatening to come entirely undone because of him. You’re flipping your phone off and clenching your eyes shut, willing with all of your might for the mental image of Jungwon’s dick to go away from your head.
You make your own happiness. You’re content as you are, surrounded by your walks and postcards and books. When Jungwon gives you an inch, you accept what you’re given and remain grateful for it. You don’t take a mile and demand more, because as gracious as you know he is, even he has a limit.
You don’t ever want to be the reason he hits it.
...
sheep garden: (Attachment: 1 Video File)
You: We’ll talk once we’re home.
Jungwon comes home late that night. You don’t know if that helps or exacerbates the anxiety in your stomach. Despite how curt you made your last text to him while at work, you’ve been a bundle of nerves the entire time ever since. The apprehension gnaws at the lining of your guts, ever present and always returning just when you think you’ve forgotten about it.
You buy yourself as much time as you can, as if prolonging seeing his face will save you somehow. You lodge yourself in a far corner at home while Jungwon makes a beeline for the bedroom once he’s home to go on live, and you cling to your book of poetry as if the lines scrawled inside will serendipitously throw you a lifeline manual on how to navigate everything. Then you hear the telltale sound of Jungwon hopping in the shower, and that’s your cue to sneak into the bedroom and settle down. The poetry book is your armor, your everything, your final bastion of defense.
The bedroom door finally creaks open. The inevitable is here.
“Are you reading again?” A chipper voice envelops you. As if nothing’s happened today. The mattress dips as he crawls in, and the ends of his hair are still slightly damp from his shower. The corners of his eyes crinkle with joy when you finally meet his gaze, and he rewards you with such a sweet smile. “Is that poetry? My noona is so smart.”
You think you might vomit. He has the face of an angel. Which, in some sick and twisted way in your head, makes sense for a boy named “garden.” He’s the garden of Eden in all of its earthly delights and the angel with a sword of blazing fire, luring in and in and casting out and out. You, torn between ecstasy and damnation, are both Eve and the snake, tempted and tempting. It would be so easy to lean in and take a bite, feel the mouthful against the curve of your teeth and the muscled flesh of your tongue.
Your stomach wrenches, and bile floods the back of your throat. You tear your eyes away from him and point your field of vision right at your book. Who’s the author of this one? You don’t think you quite caught it.
Dylan Thomas.
“I thought you said we would talk,” Jungwon murmurs softly. He doesn’t sound upset. God, you would almost rather he get mad at you for your hypocrisy. He sounds amused, a hungry man encroaching upon his next meal. Like you’re a fucking juicy burger or some shit. “Are you not in the mood to talk? That’s okay. I’m okay with anything you want to do, as long as it’s you, noona.”
Welsh poet. 1914-1953.
He takes one of your hands. So gentle, so kind, as he rubs his thumbs over your trembling knuckles. Like the other night, he brings your fingers to his lips, though instead of asking you to stick them inside his mouth, he tenderly kisses each fingertip. You can feel his eyes boring into the side of your head, begging you to look at him.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
You do your best to keep your breathing level, lest you forget to breathe all together. In, hold, out. In, hold, out. In, hold, out.
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
You will your eyes to not move away from the book. You need to focus. You will not be swayed, not be persuaded into wanting more than you have, not be pushed into tossing away your current happiness for something that could be for naught. You force yourself to read.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
He pushes your palm against his throat, and he slides it down slowly. Your hand goes over the panes of his chest, the soft give of his stomach where his ribcage ends, the ridge of his sweatpant’s waistline. Your breathing stumbles at the sensation, and you don’t need to look at Jungwon to know that his cat-like grin must have widened even more.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Your nails ghost over his navel, and there’s the rustle of fabric as more of his skin is exposed to you. Is he pulling his pants down? You feel flush with warmth, but you don’t know if that’s because he’s making you touch him or because you can’t face him at all. Your vision swims, and you blink rapidly to clear them. You can’t lose sense of yourself yet.
Because their words had forked no lightning they
“Noona,” he breaks the terse silence, and your pussy physically hurts at the sound of his voice. That stupid fucking honorific. When scientists finally invent the time machine, you’re going to sell your extra kidney to be the first person to use it. All so you can go back in time and punch King Sejong the Great in the head. “Wasn’t I being bad today? I got so excited because I thought you got mad at me earlier today. Can’t you see what you’ve done to me? I get turned on by you being mad.”
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Your fingers move over the coarse hairs of his pubes, and you almost drop your book. He groans, loud and shameless and practically melting, as he wraps your hand around the base of his cock. You just sit there and let him maneuver your fingers into the shape of a closed fist. His dick twitches against your knuckles, as if just your presence alone will be enough to make him cum all over himself like a needy puppy.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
“If words won’t do it, then I’ll just have to make you feel it. You can feel it now, can’t you? I jerked off at work today, and I’m getting turned on all over again… And it’s all because of you. You did this to me. Noona did this to me. All you do every night is sit there and read, and I get horny watching you,” he whines. Your heart drops to your ass when he moves your hand to tug upwards.
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Is he going to have you jerk him off? Your cunt flutters again, slick pressing your panties to your pussy. You think your mind might break. His dick is so big and thick in your hand, Jungwon guiding your shaking palm to rub over every sensitive vein, groaning wantonly right next to you as he chases his high. You’re cruel, so so cruel in the name of being merciful.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
You’re going to lose your mind. As your hand glides over his swollen tip and his stick pre-cum slides all over your palm, you’re barely keeping it together. You’re so scared, and you don’t know for what. You don’t know what stroke of luck you must have stumbled upon to even catch Jungwon’s eye to begin with, and you’ve already gambled on more of your luck than you should have to even get here. How do you maintain something you didn’t cultivate to begin with?
“You feel so good- It feels so much better when you’re the one touching me- Noona-,” he cries out, hips jerking against your hand. Your skin is soft, and your hand is so small in comparison to his. He loves the way you can barely contain his thickness. He’s too much for you, and he knows it. It’s so frustrating and so fun the way you try to rise above it all, the ways you make both yourself and him run in circles. A perpetual game of cat and mouse, but you take turns being predator and prey.
He’d feel so good inside you. You’re so empty, with your mouth running dry and the indelible curls of heat. People are always preaching about staying true to virtue before the mountain of temptation, but what the fuck would philosophers know about a hot K-pop idol boyfriend fucking himself through your fist while you’re quite literally doing everything you can not to break down?
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
“Fuck- Noona- ‘m gonna- Ohhhh fuck… Please- Haahhh- ‘m almost there… Don’t stop-,” he whimpers. His cock is practically drooling pre-cum. He keeps jumping and twitching inside your hand, and your thighs go weak at the thought of his cum all over your hand. His cum that he’s probably dreamt about fucking into you for god knows how long now. His cum you want inside of you, as loathe as you’ve been to admit it. You can’t focus. Everything is a blur, the frenetic motion of your hands, the ache in your wrist, the loud cries against your ear.
“Noona- Noona-,” he chokes out repeatedly, like it’s the only word he knows. It might as well be, with how pent-up you’ve driven him. You’ve starved him and turned him into this hungry monster, and now he’s indulging, grabbing you at literal fistfuls. You feel him coming onto you, his mouth latching onto the side of your neck. Your book nearly tumbles out of your clutched hand, pages melting away like wilting flowers.
“Yell at me if you want. Scream at me. Throw things at me. Tell me you hate me. Slap me across the face and make me sleep on the floor like a dog,” Jungwon pants against your skin as he keeps kissing you. Open mouthed and more tongue and spit than anything else, as if sucking the literal sweat and skin cells off of the side of your neck will fix everything. “But god- If you just sit there and act like I don’t exist, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself. I live for you, noona-”
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
He spills all over your hand with a strangled cry. Some of it splatters onto your shared bed and your clothes, and your entire body burns as if you’re being smothered with heat. It hurts to breathe, hurts to think. You keep jerking him off until he’s done riding out his orgasm, your vision blurry and torn between your poetry and him. He’s clutching onto you like a lifeline, a hickey forming on your neck and his weight slumping over your side.
And fuck- Fuck- You think you’re hallucinating at first, but one good squeeze and the throaty groan from him proves otherwise.
He’s still hard.
His lips curve into a smile. “That wasn’t so bad, was it, noona? You’re always trying to be good for my sake, but- you don’t have to try so hard. What is it that you’re so scared of?”
You don’t know how to answer that. There’s no good answer to that. How do you tell him that you’re scared of everything? That if you dare to want more than the happy life that you’re already working so hard to forge, you think you might lose it all? That trying to perfect something already perfect will always lead to doom, and if you eliminate the want altogether, then you can at least content yourself with the mimicry of it all?
“Are you scared that you’ll be too much for me?” Jungwon breathes. His exhale is hot and warm, and it makes your gut lurch. He reads you too easily. Have you always been this predictable? Or has he buried himself in your mind so deep that you’ve become an extension of him? Do the semantics even matter? He pays no mind to your internal torment. “You’re so silly. Is that why you’ve been acting like this the entire time?”
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
He reaches over, and for the first time, you break your eyes away from your reading. You’re just in time to watch Jungwon raise his hand. You had expected his gaze to be all hazy, cloudy from his orgasm mere seconds ago, but the determination in his face is crystal clear and unmistakable.
He smacks the book out of your hand.
It flies across the floor, and it lands in a graceless heap of crumpled pages. It’s a gutted corpse, wrenched of its once formidable glory, a husk of a puppet in encasings of paper and glue and bygone wisdom. You should cry out and be indignant, but you don’t get a chance. Jungwon crawls on top of you, and you’re staring back up at him with eyes blown wide open, your heart working overtime as it hammers away like a death toll in between your lungs.
“Let’s go all the way then. I’ll prove to you that I can take it. Tell me- Show me- Do everything you want to me. Let me in.” His hands are that of an angel’s as he touches you, even with him rutting his half-hard cock against your stomach. He cups your waist and your chest, your neck and your face.
“I want you, noona.” He leans down, and his lips are on yours. He mouths the next part into your mouth, tongue gliding over your own as the knot in your chest threatens to overtake you. “I want you to want me too.”
His last sentence knocks something out of your mind. A roadblock cleared, a clog undone, a barrier breaking down.
Your brain resets. And the deluge rages out, flurries of repression and self-born abnegation rebelling and pounding and streaking like wild fury into the dark night.
You do. So, so badly that it’s been a kind of possession, an alter ego that’s been trying to swallow you whole, always waiting for you to trip so it can stuff you into its abyss. It’s like a mind of its own, a part of you that you shunned not because of its foreignness but because of how you it is, with your plain face and unorthodox hobbies, as if masking it long enough would cause it to shrink away. A vicious, malicious kind of pull, one craving to unhinge its jaw and sink its teeth into Jungwon, an apple with its flesh torn asunder, bite marks carved permanently into skin, damnation so overdue and euphoric that it becomes the temptation itself.
You want.
You want.
God, you fucking want.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
author's note: um,,,, (ᵕ • ᴗ •) how do i even start writing an author's note for this one??
credit where credit is due: this fic is heavily inspired by maria semple's novel go gentle. while i'm not a 40-something year old divorcee in the way that semple's adora hazzard is, i found myself deeply resonating with the main character's dedication to a kind of whimsical repression, and consequently, the courage and journey she undergoes to mature from it. i really am so immensely fond of the "self-control becomes the pleasure" line that i literally have it screenshotted and favorited on my phone, and i will deadass text it to ri when she's trying to get under my skin.
the second piece of literary credit due is the famous dylan thomas poem "do not go gentle into that good night." i'm sorry mr. thomas for using your poem on grief to write kpop boy porn, but in my defense, semple does it first (the absurd referencing, to be clear. not the kpop boy porn. to my knowledge).
otherwise, i hope you enjoyed! i challenged myself to keep this under 5k, which evidently did not happen but i was close!!!! this fic was purposefully very self-indulgent on my part, and because of that, i ended up transposing a lot of myself onto the reader insert... i promise this is a one-off, and my future works will be less imposing on the reader's personality! please go gentle (haha) on sweet y/n, and in your own ways, rage, rage against the dying of the light. ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ੈ♡‧₊˚
❥ head pusher!niki
❥ nishimura riki x f!reader
❥ warnings: MDNI, nsfw, oral sex (m!receiving), face-fucking, head pushing (well yes), gagging, choking, dirty talk (degradation + praise), spit/saliva kink, tiiny bit of possessiveness
❥ word count: 1k
❥ ( ˶>˶˶<˶) inspo... deep sigh... yeah
❥ divider by thecutestgrotto
❥ requests are OPEN!
this manifests as a broader obsession with your hair, the back of your neck. riki will find any excuse to splay his big hand over your nape, fingers brushing at the bottoms of your ears. fully aware of how sensitive your earlobes are. he plays with your piercings, raising his eyebrows in a “wasn't me!” gesture when you finally turn around to give him a piece of your mind.
he likes to fiddle with the longer layers at the back of your head, twisting and turning a lock of your hair every which way until you smack his hand to stop. (he learns his lesson when one of his attempts at a “braid” leaves a hopelessly tangled knot that only came out after a solid 20 minutes of patient combing.)
whenever he kisses you, without fail, at least one hand creeps up to the back of your head to pull you in, angle you just so for him to lick into your mouth, hot breath mingling in what little space is left between you.
riki's a little embarrassed to admit he's #that kind of perverted boyfriend, the kind that gets a little excited when you so much as pull your hair back into a ponytail. if you turn around and catch his heavy gaze, you roll your eyes.
what's out of your line of sight is none of your business. and that includes the lovebites littered across the nape of your neck and backs of your shoulders.
he is, unfortunately, quite vocal when you're going down on him. unfortunate because some of the things he lets out of his mouth leave your ears burning with embarrassment.
“unh, such a perfect, slutty mouth on you, baby,” he pants out, weaving his fingers into your hair. “so good, fuck, no one else gets to have you like this…”
riki keeps his touch gentle the first few times, reassuring, playing with your hair and petting it down while you make him feel good. he gradually gets bolder, as if trying to see what he can get away with.
you finally make it clear to him one time, pulling off and rubbing your cheek against his cock like you can't stay away from it (which isn't too far from the truth… also unfortunately.) “mm, you want to yank me up and down on it? use me like a hole?” your hand jerks him off, slick with your saliva and his pre-cum. you maintain eye contact with him.
this is a free-pass to use your mouth that you later wonder if you actually should have given to him. he goes fucking wild. you're not sure whose mouth is filthier, yours from the loads he keeps filling it up with or his for the fucking things he's saying.
“hungry for it?” he says, mockingly slapping his cock on your cheek, wet and heavy, before guiding it into your mouth. “god, better than any onahole.” you close your eyes, accepting that this is the monster you let loose with your full permission.
the more drool, the better. riki delights in seeing just how wet and messy you can get, even if you have to pull off to cough. you keep your hand fisting it, pre-cum leaking over your fingers. when he leans down with that look in his eyes, you know what's next.
lean back, jaw loose. he spits into your mouth, hitting the middle of your tongue. you nod, eyes fluttering, and swallow.
“wish i could keep you, bring you around with me during schedules,” he groans, sprawled out on the couch, still in his work clothes after a long day. “use your whore mouth whenever i want. isn't that right? you'll take it whenever i want you to?”
as ever, you aren't able to respond with much more than cut-off moans and slick, filthy throat noises.
and when tears leak out of your eyes for the first time, running down your too-full cheeks… he's ashamed to say it gets him even harder.
“fuck… choke on it, yeah, cry for it baby.” his murmur rises from deep in his throat, but it reaches your ears all the same. you close your eyes, blinking out more tears, and he chuckles.
“aww, too much? is it too much, baby? y'can't take it?”
all you can manage is a senseless “mm—!” around his cock. you can't even tell if it's one of assent or dissent.
“you can't? of course you can.” his hand cups your cheek, thumb swiping to catch your tears. “my good girl was made to take it.”
and, of course, when his thighs start tensing up beneath your hands and his grunts get higher until they're more helpless, airy—when he's moaning, sweet and throaty—that firm hand at the back of your head gets even firmer.
riki would dump his cum down your throat every day if he could (and he tries his hardest to get close to that goal). nothing captivates him quite like your furrowed eyebrows, fluttering lashes, obscenely stretched lips stretched around his cock, gagging and drooling as he forces down every drop.
when he finally pulls you off—doesn't even let you pull off yourself—he gathers you up to his mouth immediately. licking his cum out of your mouth. he keeps it on his tongue, too, pulling back for a moment before meeting your lips again to feed it back to you.
even hearing you try to talk afterwards in your weak, raspy voice gets him going again. he'll spare you this time—meaning he'll just rut between your thighs until he cums, warm and sticky in his pants.
and even then, he can't keep his hands to himself. one hand, as ever, finds its way to the crown of your head. he fists your hair, pulls you even closer into him.
“anyone who tries to talk to you… they'll hear it in your voice, yeah?” he groans into the crook of your neck, hips pushing at your ass's curve. “you're mine. all the way down in your throat, i have you.”
a/n waves hand... the theme between the title, linked video, & content is head pusher... think it all came full circle :) hope you enjoyed!
fuck him, go into his closet, steal some of his supreme chrome hearts !
✧ ni-ki was supposed to be a hook-up you occasionally stole from and nothing more. but one mistake leads to another, and you might have snuck off with more than you bargained for.
✧ nishimura riki (enhypen) x fem! reader
✧ word count: 8k
✧ content warning(s): MDNI, nsfw, DUBCON, yandere ni-ki, jay is lowk the bus driver
✧ divider by angeliicide
✧ requests are OPEN!
“Nnh…! Riki!”
His pillow muffles your moans somewhat. Your voice comes out soft and garbled. The pillowcase smells distractingly of his shampoo and faded cologne, and with each harsh inhale, it’s as if your senses are being overwhelmed by him. He’s everywhere around you: in your mouth, in your nose, in your head. It’s a sweet dream-like blissful reverie, a short-lived reprise.
A big hand grips at your hair, and you give a yelp as you’re yanked backwards by the head. Another large hand finds its home at the curve of your hip, rough fingertips digging into the flesh as if you’ll run away from him if he gives any leeway.
“No hiding,” a gruff low voice growls from above you. Heat and sweat prick at your bare skin, and Riki props your hips up, bending you over mercilessly across his creaking mattress while forcing your face out of his pillows. “I want everyone to hear what I’m doing to you.”
“Y-You’re crazy-! Ah-! Wait, wait, not so rough…!” You barely get your words out through your panicked breathing before Riki’s shoving his hips up against you. He bullies his cock into you from behind at such an unforgiving angle. Deep, full thrusts that leave your poor cunt with no choice but to take it, walls stretched open from how thick and long he is, hole fluttering and drooling around him as your consciousness swims and blurs all around the edges.
“So fucking tight… Your body looooooooves this dick, doesn’t it?” There’s such a mocking whiff of glee in every syllable of his words. “She loooooooves it, looooooves gobbling up my cock. So greedy.”
You whimper helplessly. You want to shove your head back down and let his downy pillows swallow up all of your sloppy noises, but tears prick at the corners of your eyes. His grip on your hair is so relentless.
Thrust. “Fuck- Ah- Riki!”
Thrust. “You’re- you’re going to break me…!”
Thrust. “We’re not even close like that- There’s no need to be like this-!”
You’re scrambling to keep your sanity. Each snap of his hips has you seeing stars. Fuck, fuck- Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, you’re going to cum at this rate. You don’t know where your inner thoughts end and your audibly mindless babbling begins. You’re flipping all over. Bargaining for mercy, appealing to logic, just crying out like a wounded animal as his cock rubs itself all over your insides. Lewd squelching noises echo around the room. Smack, smack, smack, as if the sounds of your rabid fucking exists just to break you down that much further.
Shame burns at your face and exposed skin, but the unrelenting knot that’s been mounting inside your stomach burns harder. You hate just how right Riki is, how every demeaning thing he coos at you only proves him correct.
You love how it feels, even with your brain screaming otherwise. You love the sting and burn of his fat cock shoving your cunt open. You love how he buries himself so deep into you, enough to make it feel like his tip is pressing up against your windpipe.
“Riki!” You choke out. You’re more or less screaming at this point. Mortification and arousal are one and the same as you sob out his name. Over and over again, the only thing to ground you as Riki grips onto you possessively, making sure the foundation of the dorm and its thin walls quiver from just how good he’s making you feel.
His command is singular. “Louder.”
He yanks at your hair again, and your face careens upwards towards the ceiling. You’re leaking all over his cock at this point. Your juices are only making it that much easier for him to fuck into you. Animalistic thrusts, his base instincts wholly taking over with the singular goal of making you gush on his dick. It’s fast and sloppy and rough, and fucking hell—you just know you’re never going to get dick as good as Nishimura Riki’s for the rest of your life.
You’re close to tears. “Riki!”
You don’t think Riki was even your bias. “Riki!”
You don’t think Riki crossed your mind that much before. “Riki!”
You don’t think Riki was someone you cared about when you first got into the group. “Riki!”
“Now all my hyungs know what I’m doing to you. That the pretty girl they’ve all been eyeing up is getting her pussy fucked out and bred by their youngest.” His words go straight to your cunt. You’re clenching around him for dear life. Your cunt cries out in refusal every time he moves his hips back, as if the two millisecond before he’s drilling back into you is a waste.
He huffs in triumphant laughter under his breath, “Did that turn you on? You’re close, aren’t you? You’ve been leaking and squeezing me for so long… You keep saying shit like ‘ah, ah, ah, not so rough!’ but you actually like it when I pound into you like this.”
You’re going to lose your mind. You can’t take this anymore, but if you don’t get more of him, you might actually stop breathing. You barely eke out, “I’m gonna- Please- ‘m so close-! Need it so bad, Riki… Feels s’good…!”
“Yeah? So close to what?” He’s not one to give you what you want so easily. If you weren’t so fucked out of your mind, you think you might have thrown something at him for his sheer audacity. But god, right now, with crazy good dick fucking you out like tomorrow doesn’t exist, you’re not above caving.
“I wanna cum! I wanna cum- wanna cum-,” you slur out, voice ringing out like clear morning bells through the debauched night. “Wanna cum on your cock! Your cock feels so good- Love having sex with you-! Love having sex with your cock- I can’t- I can’t hold on anymore!”
You don’t need to look at him to know he’s cracked that devilish grin. The one that’s gotten you acting so stupid to begin with, the one that got you trapped in his bed, the one that has you like putty in his hands.
He practically purrs, “There you go. Now you’re being just as honest as your pussy.”
The next thrust does you in. You nearly fall forward in a silent shriek as your orgasm rips through you. Pure heat claws at your core, and you stiffen, unconsciously clenching up all around him and squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. Ears blown out and eyes rolling back, you cum shamelessly all over his dick as he empties himself into you. Warmth explodes all inside of you as he fucks you through it until you’re a boneless mess.
When you droop like a wilted flower back onto his sheets, only then does he finally let you bury your head into his pillow. Well, it’s not like you’re actively burying your head in there; you simply don’t have the strength to move elsewhere. Not when you’re still buzzing with the high of your climax, not when he’s sapped your strength so thoroughly, not when your brain has given up on your body completely and all you can do is just lay there and struggle to process everything while Riki leers down at you victoriously, his sticky cum pouring out from between your thighs.
You really, really can’t stand him.
You made a mistake.
Last night wasn’t supposed to escalate like that.
You have enough self-awareness to come clean and admit that much to yourself. This isn’t just unique to Riki (which… you have quite a bit to debrief about, even if it’s only to yourself again). You’d like to think that you’re more mature than to have your shit rocked this thoroughly and then end up passing out in the bed of said-man-who-rocked-your-shit.
But you did, and no amount of morning-after regret is going to change the fact that you woke up in Riki’s bed with a disturbingly sore body and a horrifying revelation that you won’t be able to look yourself or him in the face for a while. The sun hasn’t fully risen yet, the room still dark and ambiently moody, and the mound breathing rhythmically next to you signals that Riki is still blissfully asleep.
You take that as your cue to get out of there as fast as you can. Your body whines in protest, but you fight your way through the stiffness in your limbs and the undeniable ache settling in on your lower back and gingerly swing your feet to get up. You move as efficiently as you can, dressing with whatever you can find without trashing the room too much, while doing your absolute best not to disturb Riki.
You’re not willing to gamble more of your pride to sleep in and stay longer. You’re not one to judge anyone after the position you’ve found yourself in today, but you highly doubt that Riki’s the type of person to wake you up with a kiss, a gentlemanly “good morning,” and send you on your way with an Uber and breakfast in your stomach. You’re not delusional enough to think that you’re anything special, not when he probably has a line of admirers spanning the world’s equator who’d kill to be in your place.
So objectively speaking, you know you shouldn’t linger. But for some reason, you hesitate right in front of his closet. Hand over your heart, you didn’t seduce Riki with the intention of stealing from him. If it was monetary wealth you were after, you’d fuck your way into Jeff Bezos’s will and hire a hitman to take him out. But your hands itch, and if Riki won’t treat you to at least a taxi and breakfast, then you might as well pamper yourself with something to make the aches and time lost worth your while.
His chains? No, that would be too expensive.
His shoes? No, that would be too weird for you to find any use out of.
His designer clothes? No, that would be too obvious.
You scan the room, ears perked and heart pounding for anything that might tip you off to the fact that you might be caught red-handed. But Riki continues snoring, and before your nerves can give out on you, you decide on your target. Like Atalanta scooping up her golden apples, you lurch forward and extend a hand.
Your fingers curl around his Chrome Hearts beanie, and you slip out of his bedroom while rubbing your knuckles over the soft material. The hallway outside is dark, the rest of the members most likely asleep or cocooned up in their own respective rooms. Your footsteps are muffled as you carefully pad out over the main areas. You quiet your breathing, keep your mind honed, clutch the beanie close to your body like the purloined booty it is as you race towards the front door. Your thoughts are singular.
Get out.
Get out.
Get out.
“...Holy fuck-!”
You almost scream and eat shit when you nearly collide straight with someone. Red-hot panic flashes through you as you lurch forward, tripping over your own feet before barely managing to straighten yourself. Your eyes strain through the murky darkness of the dorm, only to come face-to-face with who you recognize to be a very frazzled Jay. His hair is a mess, and there’s a half-drunk glass of water in his hands, explaining why he’s sneaking around at this hour like you are.
He blinks in your direction, and you angle your body to hide the beanie you stole. Your heart hammers inside of your chest—th-thump, th-thump, th-thump, th-thump—until Jay just settles on giving you a good-natured nod in acknowledgement and shuffling off. You stand there for a few breaths longer, fright still gripping your brain in full force. Only when you’re absolutely certain that you won’t be intercepted again do you bolt and finally succeed in escaping.
You don’t want to think too much about what might have gone wrong. You don’t want to think about how often Riki must hook up with other people for Jay to appear so unphased by your escape walk of shame. You don’t want to think about what might happen if Riki notices that his Chrome Hearts beanie is gone.
You’re not special enough for him to notice. That is your one saving grace, your light at the end of the tunnel, your lifeline in your sea of floundering mistakes.
If Riki has noticed anything, he doesn’t show it. Days pass, and somehow, your paths end up intertwining. Don’t misunderstand—it’s not like he shows up Disney style with a diamond ring in his hand atop a white horse, but you run into him every now and then over the course of a few months. Some meetings are nothing more than amicable, with him peering over his costly sunglasses and giving you a jerky nod in greeting.
Others are more intimate, and they end with your thighs smeared with loads of his sticky cum and a sore back for the following few days. You’re growing used to waking up with a dull pain flaring up there from how rough he always gets, but shamefully, you’re growing more used to the terribly addictive pleasure he sicks onto you with wicked delight. It’s escalating to the point that you’re slowly looking forward to each hook-up, desire and heat and want pooling deep in your belly whenever you think about how good the stretch of his thick, veiny cock feels.
For better or for worse, your kleptomaniac tendencies continue. You don’t steal from him after every hook-up. That would be a rookie move, and the last thing you need to throw a wrench into the situationship you have with Riki would be for him to find out that you’ve been pawing through his closet. You always keep it small but profitable; though, the last part is only in theory since every time you do leave his dorm with his Chrome Hearts in tow, you never end up selling it.
The logical part of you knows that the risk is too high. Knowing your luck, he might end up stumbling across the listing and finding you out, or his company might find out and sue you with their brigade of impenetrable lawyers for artist endangerment or some shit. The emotional part of you is fond of your trophies, and because you feel bad that they’ve started collecting dust in your house, you’ve started to integrate some of the more mundane pieces into your wardrobe.
An earring to spice up your outfit on a night out in town with friends. The beanie that started it all when you’re making a quick trip to the grocery store and don’t feel like making your hair look presentable. Sunglasses for when you’re driving—just because you get a kick out of the thought of expensive designer shades being used for something so mundanely utilitarian.
You never steal anything ostentatious, and you never wear anything ostentatious. Always something small and plain, with just enough plausible deniability that it could be something you acquired yourself organically. You always do your due diligence to make sure you don’t wear them on days you know for sure that you’ll run into Riki, but every now and then, you run into someone else you don’t expect. Like Jay, who you quickly discover gets up a lot earlier than you expected after continually bumping into him on your walks-of-shame out.
But then you move onto bigger prizes, although that’s mostly with Riki’s permission. You wake up again with a thick layer of crusties in your eyes, and you spend about thirty seconds rubbing them all out. Your eyes are puffy and your throat is sore, undoubtedly from crying and sobbing and moaning after how much Riki overstimulated you last night, and you hobble out of his bed as if you’re a disintegrating scarecrow. You methodically get dressed, haphazardly yanking on your pants (your underwear has disappeared to god-knows-where with how vigorously he was ripping your clothes off last night) and socks before pausing.
Shit. Your top is nowhere to be found. You scour all around the bed and even take a peek around some of the more isolated nooks and crannies of Riki’s dorm room, but as if they’ve been carried away by a ghost, it’s nowhere to be seen.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. You need to put something on and skedaddle. No matter how many times Riki’s fucked you and made you come undone in the worst ways possible, you don’t have it in you to face him the morning afterwards. Even more so knowing that this is when you steal from him. You shuffle around, debating if it’s worth stealing one of his shirts or if you should take a big towel from their bathroom to fashion into a makeshift toga, when Riki groans and shifts.
You stop dead in your tracks. Fucking hell—today genuinely was going to be a day where you weren’t actively going to steal from him. You think you might shit your guts out from the guilt alone, and you freeze right where you are. Breath held, stomach clenched, eyes trembling, you pray that he doesn’t wake up.
But life would never be that kind to you.
“...Mmh?” He mumbles sleepily, pushing himself upwards into a seated position. He blinks a few times groggily, and right when you’re debating on running for it while he’s still not fully conscious, does he recognize you.
“Good morning,” he murmurs before flopping back down on his bed, “Why’re you in such a hurry to get out?”
You pause, and you gnaw on the inside of your cheek. What the fuck are you even supposed to say to that? Why does he have to be so casual about the fact that you two are so intimate? You hate that your heart flutters, hate that you were caught in such a preventable situation, hate that you even let this whole thing turn into a big ordeal. You should have kept it at one good hook-up and exit with no string attached, and now you don’t even know what the correct thing to do would be.
“I… have things to do,” you offer up. It’s only a partial lie. The thing in question that you need to do is leave, so you can lick your wounds and pretend that you’re not growing a little too comfortable with this arrangement. You muster up your courage, bolstered mostly by the pounding adrenaline in your head. “I can’t find my shirt. Can I take one of yours?”
“Oh. Yeah, sure.” Riki gestures vaguely in the direction of his closet. “’s gonna be pretty cold today, I think. Sunoo-hyung kept ranting yesterday about his skin drying because the weather’s changing up. Take a hoodie or something.”
You tiptoe over and open up the closet. The holy grail of Depop resellers stares back at you as you squint through the darkness to mull over your pickings. “A hoodie seems excessive… I just need a t-shirt.”
“Take the fucking hoodie. I don’t need you bitching and moaning about how it’s my fault you caught a cold after going home in nothing but a t-shirt.” A muffled voice retorts from the sheets. “I can always buy another one. Do you fuck broke men on the regular? Why are you acting all prim and proper now?”
You want to roll your eyes. Only he could be this sassy after rearranging your guts. Would it kill him to let go of his whole nonchalant thing and just say that he cares about you enough to want you to stay warm? “I can go fuck said broke men instead,” you huff.
Riki responds with an audible snort. “You wouldn’t. You like my dick too much.”
A flare of embarrassment goes off inside your tight chest, and you physically bite down on your tongue to keep yourself from lashing out anymore. The atmosphere prickles with heated tension, and as much as you love getting your brains fucked out, you don’t think you have it in you to do it back-to-back. Or in what might as well be broad daylight. That feels too wanting, too forward, too everything.
You need to get out. You run your hands over the hangers and pick one at random. The material is heavy and thick, and when you slip it on, it rests over you like a comforting backhug.
It smells tantalizingly of him.
You don’t linger too long afterwards, but there’s an odd tug in your chest as you make your usual exit out of the Enhypen dorm. Something about this whole thing is too close to comfort, like a boyfriend sharing his clothes with you instead of you gaslight-gatekeep-girlbossing your way through making his incessant pussy battering worthwhile. You don’t know how to feel about the fact that he’s softening your edges just as much as you’re softening his.
When you walk out, you even give Jay a little greeting as you head out. He gives you a polite greeting back, though today, he stares the slightest bit longer than usual at the sight of you so openly in Riki’s clothes.
You made a mistake.
You knew better than to expect that you could keep your whole thing with Riki entirely under the table. You did everything you could to keep everything under wraps, but if you’re crazy enough to do what you do with him, the people who want to be the one doing what you do with him are even crazier.
It was only a matter of time before people would start finding out. The members were a given, and to an extent, some of the group’s sasaeng fans. You were under the impression that once enough people did find out, the company would serve you some papers and brush you under the rug and that would be it.
NI-KI OF ENHYPEN FINDS A GIRLFRIEND? UNKNOWN FIGURE SPOTTED WEARING MATCHING CLOTHES AND SNEAKING OUT OF KPOP IDOL’S DORM.
What you did not expect was for a whole news article, complete with pictures, to be the reason why you’re pacing around the Enhypen dorm like a caged animal. Pulse drumming in your ears, limbs twitchy, dread thudding through your veins in a second heartbeat, saying that you’re full blown freaking out would be an understatement. Is there anything you can even do about something like this? About the fact that some anonymous tipper has more or less doxxed you? You had the foresight to immediately get rid of your phone and bolt from your current address the moment you found out, footsteps unconsciously bringing you to where Riki was in vain hopes that he might be able to help navigate this.
So here you are. Stuck in the dorm like a hostage, waiting for Riki to come back home, too scared to peek out the window in case a mob of rabid fans are outside waiting to pelt you with tomatoes. Or the company’s legal team. Both.
Jay, ever the gentleman, keeps you company the best he can. He’s already brewed you a cup of hot tea (which has gone untouched, mostly because if you drink anything, you think you’ll hurl it back up), phoned Riki an ungodly number of times for you (“He’s on his way,” Jay tells you over and over again, “He’s only a few minutes out.”), and tries to feed you something so that you’re not running on sheer adrenaline (which you once more refuse).
“I know this is a shitty situation, especially for you.” Jay moves to pick up your untouched mug of now-stone cold tea, and he shuffles over to the kitchen to stick in the microwave. You gnaw on your already battered lower lips as he gives you what he probably intends to be a comforting smile. You don’t say anything until the microwave beeps after a while, and Jay returns with your tea.
“I’m scared,” you choke out through strained breathing. “How am I going to live after this? I won’t be able to show my face in public.”
“You’ll have Riki.” Jay takes your trembling hands and maneuvers the warm mug into your grip. The heat spreads against the inside of your palms, and though it’s only for a millisecond, it does make you feel better. Jay beams at you again. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. He’s lucky to have someone like you.”
You tense up at the mention of his name. Your tongue is thick and heavy in your mouth, and you swallow the growing lump that’s made home in your throat. “I… Me and Riki… We’re not like that.”
Jay cocks his head to the side and raises an eyebrow. “Hm? Not like what?”
Good god. Having to spell it out with your own mouth is making you burn so much more with shame. You might as well be rubbing salt on your open wounds. Your nails drag against the hard surface of the mug, and you tear your gaze away from Jay’s earnest eyes.
“We’re not together. Not in a boyfriend-girlfriend way,” you manage out. You can’t help but start to chew on your mouth and lips again, nerves eating away at your burning insides. “We just hook-up like… a lot. That’s all. Really.”
If Jay was supposed to show any real emotion to that, he doesn’t get a chance to. The front door of the dorm flies open with enough force that it might as well have been kicked in, and you’re so strung up that you end up sloshing some tea over your hands. The tea isn’t hot enough to burn you, thankfully, but it’s enough to make Jay’s parental instincts kick in and swipe the mug from you like you’re a toddler that can’t take care of yourself.
Riki comes in, breathless, impeccably pretty face screwed over in worry. His eyes widen when he sees you, and you instinctively lurch forward in his direction, all of your prepped speeches and crash outs and everything going blank once he’s actually here in front of you.
He takes the words right out of your mouth. “We need to talk.”
A hand clamps down on your wrist, and before you can object, he’s yanking you in the direction of his room. You stumble with him, barely keeping up with his urgent footsteps, and a new wave of dread engulfs you as you cross the threshold from dorm to bedroom. It’s something you’ve done countless times, and yet, today feels as if you’re crossing the point of no return.
“Hey, be gentle!” Jay calls out from the common area. Riki pays Jay’s comment no mind and shuts the door behind him. It locks into place with a metallic ‘click,’ and only then are you finally alone with him. Face-to-face, just the two of you, a sobering realization that something that wasn’t supposed to get this far, has in fact, gotten this far.
You should talk. You need to talk. You have to find the clarity amidst all the topsy-turvy chaos and straighten out your story with Riki before Belift pummels you into anonymity and silence. You should know better than to expect any real gentleness from someone like him. Happy endings don’t come out of mindless sex, and happy endings definitely don’t come to someone who might have gotten this whole thing busted from stealing out of his closet.
“Riki, I-,” you try to start. You don’t get far. You’re half-expecting him to be angry with you, to start screaming and yelling and acting unreasonable, but instead, what you find sends a completely different chill down your spine.
It has to be your eyes playing tricks on you.
There’s just no way, no fucking way, that he looks absolutely victorious right now.
Everything ends the exact same way it began.
“Riki, you’re being unreasonable-,” you stutter out as his hands start impatiently yanking at your clothes. You have a half a mind to try and calm him down, work some logic back into him so you can put out the bomb that’s landed squarely in your lap, but it’s so difficult to stay grounded when he’s actively cornering you against his bed and staring down at you as if he’s going to eat you whole. Your mouth goes dry as he shoves you against his bed, and soon enough, you’re performing the same song and dance of shedding your clothes while you half-heartedly argue with him.
His palm cups your clothed cunt. His voice is deep against the shell of your ear. “I saw that you were talking to Jay-hyung. Did you talk to him for a while?”
It’s a trap. You know it’s a trap. You stumble over your own words. “H-He was the only one home when I came by. He was just being polite and making sure I’m okay. Riki- Riki, fucking listen to me! There are news articles about us right now- This isn’t the time to have sex!”
He looks at you straight in the eye, his gaze sharp and unforgiving. “Everyone else knows we’re fucking now. What are you getting all shy about?”
Your words die out in the back of your throat at that. Riki gives a small huff, and the rest of your clothes are coming off of you like you’re shedding a second skin. You’re all too used to the rhythm of this. The sensation of his cool sheets under your body, the heat of his breath fanning against your neck as his lips bite and kiss and suck, the tight grip of his hands as he gropes at your chest and stomach and hips.
“Riki-,” you whimper out. Need builds up inside of your chest and core. You wish you had the fortitude to keep your thoughts straight and to get your ducks in a row, but with Riki on top of you and making it impossible for you to process anything other than him, you’re a lamb led to the slaughter. “Riki- We- I-”
“What are you so worried about? Your safety?” He licks at your cheek, and you shiver. He captures your lips in an open-mouthed, selfish kiss, and he moans obscenely into your mouth at how sweet you taste. “You have nothing to worry about. You have me.”
“I-,” you force out in between sticky making out, “-I won’t be able to show my face in public! Or get a job! How am I going to support myself?”
Riki stops dead in his tracks. You barely hold back a sigh, wondering if that was the reality check he needed to realize the gravity of the situation. But then he shifts downward, and when he opens his mouth to press a kiss to your chest, he instead bites.
And he bites hard.
You shriek. It can’t be more than a mere second, and yet the sensation of his teeth sinking into the curve of your soft chest emblazons itself into a dark part of your mind. It hurts, hurts so bad—even when being rough, Riki has always made sure to balance the pain with the pleasure. This was something he did to hurt you, to make sure you felt his capability to inflict it onto you, and for some fucking reason, you liked it. Deep down, you fucking liked it.
“You’re not listening to me,” he hisses, “Everyone already knows what we’re doing. Hell—I bet your polite Jay-hyung is piecing it together right now too. I said I’ll take care of you. Everyone thinks we’re together. So why don’t we?”
Getting shot in the head point blank might be less shocking. Your blood runs cold, and any cloudiness in your mind disappears with a snap. “What? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I know you heard me.” He pushes up off of you, and your breath catches dangerously when his hands slide down to your hips. He drags your now-soaked panties down, tossing them behind his shoulder. He sits there, taking a second just to admire the sight of your naked body underneath him, quivering with the knowledge that you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.
There’s the sound of his belt coming undone and the shuffling of fabric as he drops his pants. You hold your breath as he pulls his cock out, the tip swollen and drooling. You want it inside you. You want him to come to his senses. You want him to fuck you like tomorrow doesn’t exist because tomorrow genuinely doesn’t exist for you. You want him to take this more seriously and figure out a more solid plan of action.
He catches you licking your lips. “You want it? Lay back down. I’ll give you the cock you love so much. The cock you’ve more or less ruined yourself over.”
Your face burns, and your stomach twists in on itself. “You don’t need to phrase it like that… I’m trying to be serious.” And yet, you find yourself complying. You sink back down into his bed, mattress against your back. You spread your legs, and it feels like a permanent shiver has made its home in your spine when the cool air hits your dripping slit.
“And you don’t think I’m being serious?” Riki asks. He slots himself in between your legs, the kiss tattoo on his pelvis flashing before your eyes before your thigh obscures it. “I’ve never been more serious in my life.”
He grips the base of his cock, and he slaps the heavy tip against your swollen clit. The wet sound from the simple action is so obscene, it makes your face burn all over again. Sparks shoot up your core, and you need more. He rubs his cock up and down your slit, moaning as your pussy lips envelop his thick length.
Your pride is the lump in your throat. Your pride is the humiliated tears threatening to well up in the corners of your eyes. Your pride is your hungry cunt betraying you, your juices coating Riki’s cock in an undeniable sheen.
“I know you want it.” He breaks the terse silence first. His cockhead rests right against your entrance, just catching against the tight ring of muscle. He watches you like a wolf stalking its next meal, the ghost of a smile hinging on the corner of his lips as your cunt pulses and shivers, clenching visibly around nothing. “You trust me, don’t you?”
How the fuck are you supposed to answer that? You hesitate, and Riki’s eyes narrow in displeasure.
“Trust me,” he urges, firmer. “Tell me you trust me, and I’ll give it to you. Three words. ‘I trust you,’ and I’ll take care of the whole fucking thing.”
You can’t trust him. You know for a fact you can’t trust him. But what other option do you have? You have no other real support system you can turn to. Belift is out of the question. Your own social circle is probably coming undone from the barrage of doxxing and incessant inquiries from fans and news reporters alike. Jay is patient and kind, but that’s it. He’s an acquaintance that’s being a good Samaritan and nothing else.
You really only have Riki.
Your lips tremble unconsciously. Even though this is a single, isolated moment in time, for some reason, this whole thing suddenly feels like it’s been long overdue, the climax to an exposition that’s been building for a long, long time.
“...I trust you.”
The delight is palpable on his face. “There we go. That wasn’t so hard now, was it? Now all you need to do is turn your brain off, and let me take care of you. I’ll fuck you nice and hard until you can’t even think about anyone other than me. Just trust me.”
He thrusts into you, one sharp motion that has his whole length embedded inside your weeping hole. You arch your back, and aching pain and electric pleasure shoot through your veins like a hit of a drug. It hurts, and it feels good, and true to his word, once he sticks his cock in you, it’s like the world melts away. He barely gives you any time to adjust, immediately pinning you down underneath him so you can’t move and snapping his hips into you. Deep and hard and fast, making sure you feel every inch and ridge so that the mind-numbing pace is all you can register.
“Fuck- so fucking tight-,” he grunts. He’s not even trying to hide that monstrous possessiveness of his anymore. He looks so goddamn pleased with himself, making you cry out and sob and go incoherent just from having him put it in. “See? We’re meant to be. There’s no need for us to go around tiptoeing anymore. All you need to do is just take my dick like you’re meant to. This cunt was made to be ruined by me. You were made to be fucked by me. I’ll make it so that you can’t live without my cock.”
“S-So rough…!” You whimper. Your mind is teetering on nothingness already. The tension building up inside of you is already too much, your body already having been worn out from being stuck in fight-or-flight. Now you’re stuck in fuck-or-fuck, and you somehow keep digging yourself into deeper and deeper graves.
“Say it,” he demands in between each thrust, “Say that you can’t live without me. Say that you’ll have me forever.”
It’s torture. He’s hitting you in all of the best spots, making you gush around his thick base every time he bottoms out. He’s always manhandled you whenever you came over for his stupid booty calls, but this feels different. There’s genuinely something at stake here, and with Riki determined to escalate your relationship from misconstrued one to a real one, he’s railing into you with a single-minded purpose.
You’ve already promised yourself to him, haven’t you? Long before panic running to his dorm, long before the news article that led to the panic running to his dorm, long before stealing the clothes that led to the news article that led to the panic running to his dorm, he had worked you into his trap. You walked into his arms and gave him your body, and since when has Riki ever willingly let go of something he’s gotten a taste of?
Your sense of responsibility is long gone now. All you care about is the burning in your cunt, the heat that his cock stirs up inside your guts, the insistent and all-consuming need to turn into a mindless slut and live only for him. “I-I can’t live without you! I can’t live without your cock! Please- Riki- Please- I need to be with you!”
“Need to be with me for…?” He trails off mockingly. He gives a particularly sharp thrust, and his cockhead brushes into your G-spot at such a devastating angle that your body nearly convulses. The hot tears have started slipping past your waterline. Scalding rivulets mark your pathetic state.
You moan what he wants to hear most out. Each word is underlined by his thrusts, his pointed thrusts that make you feel like you’re both animals in heat, the world dissolving away into nothing but an amalgamation of limbs and sweat and sex. “I want to be with you- I need to be with you forever! Riki, ‘m so close- I think I’m gonna cum! So close- Please, need to cum on your cock…”
“Yeah? Gonna make a mess all over me? Gonna prove to me that my cock’s the only thing your cunt needs?” The undeniable sloppy sounds of bodies hitting each other punctuate his harsh words. “I know you’re almost there. Just a little more, and I’ll let you cum. See? I told you you could trust me. I told you I’d take care of you.”
You’re going to go mad with desperation. Your body’s at its limit. It’s been at its limit for a while. You only need a little bit more to get where you need to be. He’s stretching you out in all the right places, fucking you just right, making you cry out his name and have your brain melting out your ears with each passing second.
“Anything- Anything, Riki!” You babble out.
He repeats, faux incredulity spiking his voice. “Anything?”
“Anything!” You reaffirm. You don’t even sound like yourself anymore. You don’t recognize the carnal desperation in your voice, the shameless wanton need that makes you sound all high-pitched and fucked out.
Riki leans in, and you moan again as he kisses you. His tongue slides over yours, all spit and wet and mouths sucking on each other. “Say that you love me. Say that much, and I’ll let you cum as much as you want.”
You’re going to die. You’re going to die in his bed. You’re going to die in his bed from getting railed by him.
Nothing is sacred anymore. Nothing is off the table. Nothing is too much for you to store away as a last reserve. Nothing is to be hidden and stashed away from him, not when he’s demanding your everything to be laid out and claimed as his.
“I love you! I love you!” You cry out, full blown sobbing. “Let me cum- Please! Riki, I love you- Love you so much! I love you, I love you!”
You don’t remember how many times you’ve screamed it out. You just kept saying it over and over, until it satisfied him, until you could feel the knot inside your stomach snap violently and you’re cumming all over his dick. Squirting and making a mess, there’s no way to deny the fact that you’ve just orgasmed on his cock.
That you’ve just came from telling him that you love him.
But you can’t think. Not with the haze covering your mind, not with your body feeling like jelly now that all the adrenaline and tension has left. Especially not when Riki presses another sickeningly sweet kiss to the crown of your head, and a flicker of heat flares back up inside your belly when you feel him draw his hips back. His cock is still hard, and he isn’t done indulging in you the way he’s wanted for all this time.
“That wasn’t so hard to say, was it?” He whispers. Another kiss to your forehead, and then he’s tucking away the sweaty strands of hair splayed across your face. A strangled cry worms its way out your throat when he gives an experimental thrust.
“I haven’t cum yet,” he murmurs, “But we can fix that. And it’ll be okay since we both know that we love each other now. No matter what happens after, I’ll take care of it all. Yeah?”
Can you even say anything to that? It’s been mistake after mistake for you, each one building up until they all bite their tails and turn into an inextricable Ouroboros to keep you trapped.
No, let’s not lie. This isn’t the result of your mistakes. This whole thing begins and ends with Riki.
He kisses your mouth, solemnly and adoringly and happily.
“I love you too,” he whispers against your shaking lips, “And we’ll be so, so happy together.”
NI-KI POV
You think you’re so slick.
Riki has known the whole time that you’ve been stealing from him.
Scratch that. Minor correction.
Riki has been letting you steal from him.
It’s difficult for Riki to pinpoint what exactly about you has made him act in a way that is objectively foolish. It’s undeniable that he likes all of you. Everything you’ve shown to him, he’s devoured with relish. It goes beyond a mere infatuation with your body and the insane sex you have with him. It’s in your snark, your blasé attitude, the fact that you treat him like someone his age rather than a perfect idol atop a pedestal. It’s refreshing, and it makes him feel like he wants to be around you all the time.
Would it be such a bad thing to go that extra step, to make sure you can be with him forever? Maybe he’s taken the extreme option instead of the high road, but this is Riki we’re talking about at the end of the day. He’s never, ever been satisfied with doing things halfway. And between losing you entirely or doing whatever he can to tie you down for eternity, he’s picking the latter in a heartbeat.
When he knows you’re coming over, he’s deliberately strewn about his things. Curiosity pricks at his brain when he imagines what you might take. A beanie he’s expertly placed “casually” in your path. Earrings “haphazardly” scattered about his desk. Sunglasses he tosses right by the door. Easy pickings, like Hippomenes rolling golden apples in front of a fleeing Atalanta.
It’s a slow process, but it’s a definite one for sure. He wants to make it so that everyone misconstrues your relationship with him. So that wherever you go, he’ll follow—his clothes, thoughts of him, his name dangling off of the end of yours.
He knows he’s succeeded on a seemingly random day. Dance practice is about winding down, and the rest of the members are all doing their separate routines, getting ready to go home. Jungwon is running through what he wants to talk about during his evening live, Jake is pawing through his bag for a change of clothes, Sunghoon and Sunoo are bickering like a married couple over probably nothing again…”
“Hey…,” Jay’s concerned voice breaks through Riki’s meandering thoughts. Riki turns to face him, eyebrow raised in a wordless response. Jay looks a little nervous, and he casts a wide glance around to make sure no one else is observing them.
“Can I talk to you for a second? Nothing super serious.” Jay scratches behind his neck. He gestures towards a back corner, and Riki obediently follows. The two slip away wordlessly, and only once Jay confirms that no one has noticed them going missing does he finally start speaking again.
“I… don’t want to pry. And you have every right to let me know if I’m overstepping,” he starts, sighing deeply through his nose. Riki thinks to himself that Jay looks like an anxious father about to give the birds-and-the-bees talk. Jay swallows and pauses, as if he’s mulling over his next words carefully, “But are you seeing someone? I kept running into a girl from your room, and she’s always wearing your things, and I just… I guess I wanted to say that there’s a bunch of administrative and bureaucratic stuff that comes with dating and being idols and yadda yadda, but I wanted to check in with you as a person. Like… I want you to be happy, Riki. So if you are starting to date, I’m telling you to treat your girlfriend well.”
Seeing someone.
Starting to date.
Girlfriend.
It takes everything in Riki not to crack the biggest grin of his life. Satisfaction blooms in his chest like a gulp of fresh air to a drowning man. How long has he spent, weeks and weeks purposefully arranging his room and luring you into his arms so that he can set things in motion? The countless nights he’s laid awake, wondering if this whole thing was for naught and your addictive presence was meant to be nothing more than a flash in the pan. But this is proof. Tangible, audible, physical proof.
His plan is working. You’ve been seen sneaking out of his room. You’re out and about while wearing his clothes. Jay wholeheartedly believes you to be his girlfriend and is giving him the big brother pep talk.
Riki raises a hand and pats Jay coolly on the back. “You worry too much, hyung. But don’t worry—
—I’ll treat her very, very well.”
author's note: hello!!! ( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ thank you for making it to the end of this fic! i told ri that this would be a quick little thing to jump her ass, and then i hit 4.5k and realized it wasn't a quick little thing anymore... fic title/inspo is a lyric from the slayyyter song "beat up chanel$"... thank you miss slayyyter for your contributions to my sicko enha brainworms (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈)
✧ in which enhypen rips your fishnets 𝜗𝜚
✧ enhypen/heeseung x fem! reader
✧ word count: 2.1k (300 words per member)
✧ content warning(s): MDNI, nsfw, themes of jealousy, enha purposefully kind of wrecking your clothes/fishnets
✧ divider by v6que
⋆.𐙚 ̊ JAY!
How beguiling.
Everyone knows Jay is the well-principled one of the group. The kind of guy who chivalrously holds the door open for you and brings you flowers on every date together. The kind of guy who refuses to snap no matter how far you push his buttons. The kind of guy who simply clenches his jaw shut and sucks in a deep breath through his nose when you saunter past him in a way-too-short skirt and a pair of lacy fishnets to top it all off, treating him to a generous glimpse of your thighs and calves.
How beguiling.
RIII—IIIP—
“Don’t be so rough!” You squeal. You try to squirm your way out of Jay’s lap, but the very moment you manage to even so much as get an inch away, his hands are clamping down on your waist and dragging you back onto him. You let out a gasp as your skirt is pushed up and his fingers go back to tugging and pulling at the thin material of your fishnets, the unmistakable sound of the strings snapping filling your ears.
“Don’t be so rough?” Jay repeats your words with just the slightest tilt of fake shock. “Look at you playing dumb after acting up all day. Prancing around me in something so skimpy? Bending over constantly to flash me? Acting like a bratty slut? You’re practically begging to be put in place.”
You huff, “That doesn’t give you the right to act like a brute!”
“I have more than the right.” A calloused palm grips at your ass under the remnants of your tights. His voice comes in low waves, strict in a way that makes you go weak in the knees. “I’ve been more than patient with you, but right now, you need some discipline.”
How beguiling.
⋆.𐙚 ̊ JAKE!
How distracting.
The moment Jake laid eyes on the fishnets on your legs, they imprinted inside of his brain like a core memory. He can’t think of anything else as he goes through the motions of his day. He wants to run his hands all over your legs, fingertips drinking up the sensation of soft skin contrasted by the ridges of the netting. He can’t concentrate, guilt and desire muddling his rationale as he’s overwhelmed by the sheer need to be by you. He wants to lay his head in your lap until the pattern of crisscrossing fishnets are pressed into his cheeks.
How distracting.
RIII—IIIP—
“I’m sorry- I’m sorry- I couldn’t help it!” The apology flies out like a drawn out whine before you can even register that he’s ripped your tights. Jake should feel ashamed of the depraved state you’ve driven him to: he’s a world-famous idol with a reputation to uphold, but instead he’s desperately humping at your thighs like a dog in heat.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about your legs all day… You looked so good in those fishnets, I couldn’t think about anything else-,” he chokes out, words slurring over. His cock drools inside of his pants every time he rubs his crotch over your thighs, fishnets continuing to snag and snap whenever they get caught on the buttons and the rough fabric of his pants. He looks up at you with such a pitiful look, truly on the brink of madness. “‘M so hard, it hurts- Please… Make me feel better- You don’t even have to let me fuck your pussy- I can just fuck your legs instead… Please?”
He might cum just from the thought of rutting his dick all over your fishnets and thighs. So pretty, so tempting, so ruinous.
How distracting.
⋆.𐙚 ̊ SUNGHOON!
How delicate.
Sunghoon’s fingers twitch as you gingerly yank the fishnets up. You’re moving with so much caution to make sure the tantalizing netting sits right over the plush of your legs, and you’re being so careful to make sure you don’t accidentally rip by pulling too suddenly or too hard. Sunghoon’s been building his strength to an almost stupid extent, but he likes how much bigger and taller and more dependable it makes him. Where you might struggle to open heavy doors or unscrew tight jars, he does all of it without batting an eye—an antithesis to the airy material blanketing your legs.
How delicate.
RIII—IIIP—
He doesn’t mean to do it on purpose. But you’re so small in his arms, and just by grabbing a handful of your thighs, the fishnets come undone like they’re made of cobwebs and gossamer. You give a squeal and smack him on his biceps (“Don’t rip them! I’ll have to buy new ones!”), unaware that you’re nothing more than a tiny kitten yowling at a big tiger.
“It’s not my fault they’re so weak.” He tosses you down on his bed effortlessly, and he crawls on top of you. Your breathing pitches up when he cages you in between his mattress and his chest. It’s a wordless reminder that right now, when you’re in his arms, he gets to call the shots. You can scold him all you want, but all the bravado will melt away into nothing once he folds you into one of his favorite, unforgiving positions, leaving you with no choice but to cry out in pleasure as he fucks you stupid over and over again.
You shouldn’t pick a battle you can’t win. You shouldn’t wear something so frail around him if you wanted them intact.
How delicate.
⋆.𐙚 ̊ SUNOO!
How cheap.
Sunoo thinks you deserve better than some mass-made polyester draped over your legs. They’re cute because they’re on you, but if Sunoo got his way, he’d drape you with nothing but the finest lace his money could buy. Because in his eyes, you deserve nothing but the best—and then you have to drop the bomb that you bought the fishnets on a whim after wanting to match with a friend. A friend. It’s stupid to get jealous, but Sunoo can’t deny how worked up he feels at the thought of you matching with someone that isn’t him.
How cheap.
RIII—IIIP—
“Oh?” A finger tiptoes up your thighs and hooks around the waistband of your fishnets. Your breath catches, and Sunoo tugs slightly at the elastic before letting it go. It snaps against your stomach. The initial sting isn’t too bad, but heat still riots inside of your brains. “I’m soooooo sorry. I didn’t think it would rip so easily.”
His palm cups your cunt. He smiles down at you: sweetly, seductively, snidely. He’s not sorry at all, not when he’s starting to grind his wrist against your swollen clit and his eyes are crinkling up in sheer delight. “I thought you’d have a little bit more… taste than wearing something that’s so weak. How about I buy you something to replace these? I think I can pick out something that suits you so much better than your friend can.”
Your pussy clenches around nothing, and Sunoo continues to coo down at you. You need more. You want him to rip a hole in your panties as well and fuck you out on his fingers. But Sunoo isn’t so easily convinced, and he wants you to put your work in to prove that you deserve his attention.
How cheap.
⋆.𐙚 ̊ JUNGWON!
How cute.
That’s what Jungwon thinks when he sees you wearing a pair of pristine fishnets over your legs. And they really are cute—a nice touch to make your outfit a bit more special. He likes imagining you going through the trouble of picking them out. After all, that’s a part of the reason why he adores you so much. He likes that you go over all the little details, that you actually stop to smell the roses and leave no stone unturned. You’re someone who understands the fastidious aspects of his personality rather well.
How cute.
RIII—IIIP—
“Jungwon!” You gasp. You writhe in his arms, limbs thrashing out helplessly against his sheets, and Jungwon laughs almost mockingly at you. His greedy knuckles are hooked all over your fishnets. They were perfectly untouched this morning, but he’s now eagerly ripping a hole in the crotch.
“You really should have known better than to wear something like this around me. You know how impatient I get.” He kisses the side of your face and neck gently, and the monstrously possessive streak inside him purrs when you shudder in anticipation.
His fingers crawl up the dainty netting and past your trembling thighs, and heat swirls inside your ribcage and stomach. His voice is low and dangerous, each firm syllable enough to make your insides clench painfully around nothing. “I bet you wanted me to rip them, didn’t you? Yeah, I bet you wanted me to rip a hole in them, so I could fuck you out on my cock while you’re still wearing them.”
He stares down at you with glee as arousal clouds your eyes, your body keening over for his touch. Those fishnets will be in tatters by the end of the night, that much he’s sure of.
How cute.
⋆.𐙚 ̊ NI-KI!
How infuriating.
It’s unreasonable to hide you away in a tower like a princess and keep you all to himself, but when Riki’s eyes gloss over the fishnets stretching over your legs, the roiling waves of jealousy that overtake him make reason fly out the window. Whenever you doll yourself up or do anything, really, he’s overwhelmed by his admiration of you. It doesn’t show easily on his cool façade, but underneath the calm is a storm that’s waiting to be unleashed. His piercing gaze never leaves you, your legs, or everyone else that he’s so convinced is watching you as well—all of them wolves drawn to the prancing lamb that he adores more than anyone else ever could.
How infuriating.
RIII—IIIP—
“You don’t get it,” he mutters, dripping with jealousy. Your breath catches in your throat when his grip jerks at the crotch of your fishnets. His long, bony knuckles make quick work of them, and all that’s left in between your drooling cunt and his hungry countenance is your flimsy panties. “Do you think everyone in the world is your friend? So fucking clueless.”
“You’re crazy-,” you stutter out. You’re caught between a nervous laugh and a moan. You know this will end up with you being railed through his mattress until you can’t think. Brainless, boneless, pliant and all his.
“Men are wolves,” he hisses, lowering his face right in front of your eyes. “You might not see it, but I do. The way they look at you. The way their eyes follow you. The way their dirty thoughts crawl all over you. You’re mine. I have to make sure they know you’re off limits. See how they react when you come hobbling out in ripped fishnets with my cum dripping out of your pussy.”
How infuriating.
⋆.𐙚 ̊ HEESEUNG!
How bewitching.
Heeseung wants to be a good boyfriend. The kind of boyfriend you can be proud of. The kind of man you want to bring home to your parents. The kind of person you see your future with. But all sensibility is gone when your fishnets are in the picture. And you’re none the wiser—bending over to lace your shoes up, giving him a flash of your thighs and ass that has his cock jumping, the netting shifting sensually with your moving skin.
How bewitching.
RIII—IIIP—
He’s done it before he catches himself. Just how weak are those things? All he did was reach forward and drag a finger across your tights. It wasn’t his fault that they caught, that they ripped to give him a now-perfect view of your cute panties. And your ass. And the print of your cute pussy against the fabric of your undies.
“Heeseung! What the fuck?” You’re about to launch into a tirade about keeping his hands to himself, but it’s too late. His eyes are glazed wide open, lips parted slightly, lust consuming his features. He’s not even bothering to hide the fact that he’s hard. Any scolding you do is going to go in one ear and out the other.
“Shit- Sorry.” There’s no sincerity to his voice. You suck in an inhale as he gropes you. He’s so shameless, but knowing that you have this effect on him is flattering, if not downright arousing.
“I mean- if they’re already ripped now, we might as well go all the way?” There’s the smallest amused lilt in his voice. His cock throbs with need, wanting to bury itself in your warm cunt, wanting to see your fishnets strain against your curves when he bends you over right here, right now.
How bewitching.
author's note: hello hello!! thank you for reading my first ever writing post for this blog kyaaaa ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊ this post was partially inspired by the fact that i finally got around to buying white fishnets despite wanting them for years... title inspo is a lyric from the song "freak it" by kim petras. i've been enjoying her detour album quite a bit, so maybe i'll steal more lyrics for future fic titles... also shoutout to my co-blog author (ri) for helping me write sunoo's part! i have a couple longer ni-ki and jungwon fics in the works, so stay tuned! (๑>• )
wanna see you looking up, baby, imma need you to beg!
❥ maknae line when you beg for it
❥ enhypen maknae line (sunoo, jungwon, ni-ki) x fem! reader
❥ content warning(s): MDNI, nsfw, slight degradation/teasing, some praise (lets all have a soft!dom feeling together...)
❥ dividers by cursed-carmine
ㅤ♡ྀི︎₊ ⊹ SUNOO!
like a fox lurking around its prey… he's so present, everywhere. you don't realize the way he's wormed into your day, casual touches and one-off exchanges. he'll say something to you, tone lower and breathier than you expected, and cover his smile when you stutter over your response.
he brushes some invisible lint off your sleeve, touch lingering at the hem. “oh? this is a nice shirt.”
he doesn't give a damn about the fabric—actually, he probably does. what he cares more about, though, is that it's his. simple, plain, but still a clear claim to anyone who knows. what matters the most, though, is that you know who it belongs to.
“mine, right?” his eyes meet yours.
you nod, almost in a trance. “yours.”
later, that same coy smile peers up at you between your legs, pulling back at the worst possible moment. you gasp, knees thrown over his shoulders, almost shaking from the way he's left you right there, right when you needed that last push.
the slick coating his mouth only emphasizes the plumpness of his lips.
“nooo, come back.” the whine escapes your mouth before any shame can quash it. “please…”
he looks up at you. you blink for a second, wondering what exactly led to you being reduced to the whining, begging mess laid out in front of him.
nevertheless, he's pleased with the clear desperation he sees in you, hair plastered to your forehead with sweat as your chest heaves, breath catching when he finally leans back in.
“since you asked so nicely…”
ㅤ♡ྀི︎₊ ⊹ JUNGWON!
he is THE REASON you're begging for it in the first place. he's been teasing you all day, leaving quick fleeting kisses at the corner of your lips, your cheeks, your shoulders. he'll trace a vein on the side of your neck with his finger, idle, acting like it's thoughtless, but when your eyes meet, you know that he knows what he's doing.
finally, you're left alone together and you take the opportunity the moment it presents itself. you grab his collar, yanking it towards you so you can lean up and lick into his mouth. he concedes briefly, kissing you back, and then pulls away.
you barely stop yourself from chasing after his lips. he notices.
“does my pretty baby want something?”
you hide your face, neck heating up with rage. why do you have to play into his game every time?
“m'not a baby. first of all, i'm older than y—”
“that's right, you're not a baby.”
his agreement is short-lived. because after devouring your mouth again, disrobing you with an alarming quickness, and sinking two fingers in, he continues his train of thought.
“you're mine. my baby.”
your response isn't more than a senseless murmur of acquiescence, but it satisfies him for now. until…
he's right there, pressed hot and ready at your entrance, when he pauses, tilting his head and letting a false note of curiosity slip into his next words. “aren't you? you're mine, right?”
you squeeze your eyes shut. “... yes. yes, fuck, i am. n-now please, please, i need it—”
he laughs, mocking. you feel shame curling in your stomach at his next words. “oh, you need it, huh? you gonna die if you don't get it?”
you try to turn your face away, going to press it into the pillow next to you, but he's quicker than that. his hand catches your chin and pulls you back.
“my baby can say it with her chest, right?”
ㅤ♡ྀི︎₊ ⊹ RIKI!
he's stubborn and WILL keep up the front that it's you who's the desperate one, not him.
never mind that it's him who ends up at your place every other night. he'll sit his ass down and act like he owns the place.
one faux-casual brush of his hand over the front of your pajama shorts while the two of you are laying together (neither will admit they were the first to initiate), and his thumb catches at your hip and drags the fabric down.
his hand works in between your legs, leaving you panting. your open mouth presents a welcome space for him to shove his other hand's fingers in.
you throw your head back against his shoulder, a series of moans tumbling out, barely bitten-back. he lets you make an attempt at muffling your helpless noises, chuckling lowly.
later, when you're kneeling before the couch, looking up at him through your lashes, his hand finds your mouth again.
“my good girl wants me so bad, hmm?” his thumb strokes over your lips, dragging through the drool that's leaked out. his other fingers squeeze your cheeks, squishing them, forcing your tongue out from the sheer pressure. he leans forward and—lets go.
you reel back, the sudden lack of pressure on your face leaving you.. bereft?
you chance a glance up, and his hooded eyes confirm what he wants.
i'm not forcing you. you'll ask for it yourself.
leaning in, your eyebrows cant downwards, pitiful as you pout upwards, loosening your jaw and lolling your tongue out.
“mhmm. you know what you want, don't you?”
a/n had a vision of maknae line being menaces (which is just real life) & had to make it a reality...
⟡ only reader-insert please!! ok with multiple members x reader where the members are also getting it on with each other but i need y/n to be the bus driver always
⟡ not picky as far as genre is concerned! fluff, angst, smut, all of the aforementioned mashed together is ok!!
⟡ AUs
⟡ more "longform" formatted writing/headcanons where i can yap for a paragraph or two
⟡ dark content ok! big fan of yandere hehe
⟡ anything that will torment ri ♡ peace and love and harmony on planet earth
. ♬ ݁˖ my no-nos
⟡ anything that breaks basic housekeeping (no bigotry/hate/etc)
⟡ anything unhygienic or involving overt bodily harm
. ♬ ݁˖ misc
⟡ jungwon bias w/ bias wrecker jake
⟡ the most chronically online offline person you'll ever meet - i'm very actively attempting to wean myself off of social media, so i am very very not updated on whatever enhypen is up to >.< if you would like to request specific things (ie: a specific en-o-clock or fancam or interaction), i would greatly appreciate it if you could provide me a reference as well!
⟡ this is not my first rodeo as a tumblr writer but it's been years since i've properly taken writing requests, so thank you for your patience!
dailybridgerton
yousharknotpass
pixelskylines
germansingergirl