#+niki

[wonhyeonworld]

Warning: wet sounds, jerking off, whimper

Riki audio.(except it actually sounds like him).

Don’t like it? Scroll. Problem solved.

MDNI. (Had to put this in a warning cuz TikTok engenes are now discovering enhablr.)

[0210sjy]

࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ nishimura riki “this is so fucked."

━━ HOMEWRECKER

𑣲⋆ ⌗ (🚬) You’re the kind of girl who gets peonies for breakfast, so Riki Nishimura would really like to know why you’re buying weed from him.

西村 力 riki nishimura x cheer captain! reader ˗ˏˋ riki as a plug, i promise its not as bad as it sounds, romcom, fluff, crack, profanity, homewrecking but not really, cheating (not really) but not on riki dw, explicit content, smut, oral sex, m receiving, porn with plot, unprotected sex, dom ni-ki, size kink lowk, weed, toxic, mdni ! wc: 20 766 p: d.a.m. - fetty wap ; homewrecker - sombr ; i get lonely - drake ; lowkey - niki (fcking hilarious)

Riki Nishimura was a conformist by all means possible, and even prides himself as a law-abiding citizen to the normalized standards. 

He does think some fractions of the government system can totally be tweaked, but he isn’t some reformist that would go out of his way — he actually really likes the stability of society and how it’s structured. He’s comfortable with the status quo.

That includes knowing who to follow on Instagram, who not to approach in the hallway, who to invite in group projects, and who to sit with in lunch. He goes by what makes sense and knows who the hell doesn’t belong in his circle, who rightfully has his phone number, and who can comment on his Instagram posts. 

Except when it comes to substances. He’s not a drug addict but he does enjoy good weed. 

He did listen during chemistry lectures, which basically means he knows a thing or two about pharmaceutics — at least the important parts like which produce larger surges of dopamine and intense euphoria. So while they get drug orientations every start of the school year and the addition of the entrepreneurial mindset of a businessman his father has passed down to him; Riki’s a fucking a jackpot. He simply believed every structure had blind spots, and if someone was smart enough to notice them, then maybe they deserved to profit a little. 

Maybe that made him a hypocrite. He knew that. Sometimes, in the middle of his own judgment, the thought would occur to him that he was not exactly living inside the moral boundaries he pretended to respect.

So with all of these in mind — weed-seller and social scale follower — imagine his surprise seeing a text from you.

You, an A-tier cheer captain with perfect grades and perfect friends and a perfect boyfriend and someone he doubts even has ever touched weed within a 10 feet radius because of how goody-two-shoes and slightly more socially-conformed you are, texted him: 

you: hi you sell right

The kind of surprise a priest might feel if the Virgin Mary asked to borrow a dildo.

Riki stared at his phone for a full thirty seconds. Not because he was shocked by the question itself — he’d gotten worse, far more incriminating messages from people with nothing to lose – but because of who it was from. Your name sat there, attached to a profile picture he never thought would sit on his chat log. Someone who followed the rules so well she barely seemed to touch the ground and practically flew up the school field with the school banner.

This was not how the structure worked. Nope.

He knew you didn’t look at people like him unless it was to borrow a pen or unwillingly get assigned to a lab partner. You definitely weren’t supposed to be asking him this. 

Riki leaned back in his chair and rethought the logistics. He wasn’t paranoid – paranoia implied irrationality. This was risk assessment, you’re high visibility, you’re a liability, you’re a cop in disguise, you’re a prig who’ll ruin his cloak and dagger, you’re holier-than-thou. You’re interesting.

riki: ???? is this a test loll

you: ? its a question

riki: u fr????

you: js tell me if its a no i have money

riki: 3pm behind the science building

you: ok thanks

But more than whatever you are, he knows this was stupid. This was the kind of deviation that got people caught and into the most flouting position he’ll ever be, therefore ruining his very wish to stay within a lawful system. It was, unequivocally, a very bad idea.

And yet he finds himself at the back of the building while he reevaluates the measures of bad-ness in the idea. If math really has been on his side along with his really athletic stature, he can run when you pull out as witness to his little dissenter mood. It halts when he sees you rounding the corner in your cheer uniform — ponytail perfect, knee tape slightly crooked, eyes darting like you weren’t sure you belonged back here — he realizes something his knees will give out before he can even try to walk away.

You stop a few feet away from him, awkward, out of place, glowing like a wrong answer circled in red. You stare at him with your arms crossed, hyperaware when his eyes follow the silhouette of your frame like he’s finding a covert surveillance device underneath your pleated skirt.

Riki talks calmly, like this wasn’t insane at all, like he hasn’t been in his head for the past hours: “So,” he starts, hands slipping into the pockets of his hoodie. “What do you need?”

The question should’ve been easy. You’d rehearsed it in your head on the walk here, timed it with your steps, told yourself not to sound like an idiot. But standing this near — near enough to notice the faint, clean smell of cologne and something green and earthy — you blank.

You shift your weight, arms tightening across your chest. “Um. Weed.”

Riki blinks once, and immediately he knows what this is. He studies you the way he did with lab results that didn’t line up with the predictions — or maybe it did exactly, and he can’t believe it was that easy.

“…Okay,” he said. “What kind?”

Your mouth opens. Then closes.

“What kind.” he repeats.

You felt heat crawl up your neck. “Just… normal?” you say, immediately hating yourself. “Like. The kind people use?”

A corner of his mouth twitches before he can stop it. Then he licks the inside of his cheek, shaking his head when he realizes that yeah, his guess is right. “You don’t know what you’re doing.” he says. 

You bristle. “So?”

“You don’t even know dosage. Or strain. Or why you want it.” His eyes flick up to yours. “Do you?”

Your confidence wobbles, the polished composure you wore so easily in hallways cracking just a little now. He pulls out a small, neatly labeled bag and holds it between his fingers instead of handing it to you. “This is low THC,” he explains. “Won’t make you freak out. But I need to know what you specifically need so you don’t… panic.”

This was supposed to be transactional, quick, something you could tuck away and forget about. Yet every risky glance you take, he doesn’t look like someone who’d hold anything against you.

Riki sighs, about to put the bag away. “Look, let’s just forget —“

“I just,” you start, then sigh because there’s no cool way to say it. “I don’t know. I had a bad week. I wanted to try something.”

When you finally look up, he’s watching you differently. Not like you’re stupid or embarrassing, though you feel plenty of that on your own. His brows have lifted slightly, the faint amusement in his mouth fading into something quieter as he takes you in properly: your tight grip on your own arms, the way your eyes keep darting away.

And it makes it worse.

You meet his eyes for half a second before looking away with a small huff, embarrassed by the sudden attention. 

He puckers his lips slightly, staring at the thing in his hand like he’s thinking. At first, you think he might be deciding if you’re worth the trouble, but then he nods once. “Okay,” he says. “So you’re not becoming a stoner. You’re just trying a new cuisine.”

You blink at him, then laugh under your breath before you can stop yourself.

His mouth twitches, but hides it. He steps closer, just enough that you can see the smoothness of his skin, like he owns expensive skincare. He’s very tall, in a way that surprises you maybe because you’d just never stood this close before.

Really, you never spent time looking at Riki Nishimura. You’ve known the name, because who can ever look past the opulent sound of it, but to know the man behind it didn’t matter. After texting him, you don’t know what you expected either, maybe someone grubbier and smelled like smoke, someone with dry lips from all the ash. You thought he’d smell like one of those hippie guys who sold sketchy shit while wearing the same beanie for three years. 

But no, he smells like a familiar perfume your father owns in his fragrance wardrobe.

And his clothes are annoyingly nice, like the hoodie is probably more expensive than it looks and the loose pants are intentional, not lazy. 

Also, he’s 6’1.

“This,” he taps the bag lightly, “will help you relax. Body high, mostly. You’ll still be functional. But since it’s your first time, better not fuck around too much.” 

He’s still standing in front of you, close enough for you to notice the way his lashes lower when he looks at the bag in his hand, and you feel deeply, horribly stupid for only realizing now that he looks like that. 

Your gaze lingers, and he catches it. Riki clears his throat, spine straightening a little. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say too fast.

He only hums. You tighten your arms across your chest. “Just give me the thing.”

He finally hands you the bag, and you eye it once you feel its weight in your palm; leafy and green and brown and not you — but it doesn’t look so bad right now. It looks enticing, even, which you won’t try to admit out loud.

“Twenty,” he says, not planning to converse himself with the sudden discount. 

You dig into your bag, finding for the vintage pink wallet that screams the contrast of cannabis in your palm right now. “You know,” you say, hesitant but honest, “I don’t know. It’s weird how we’ve never talked before.”

That gets him. He chuckles even if there’s nothing funny about what you said, but there is something humorous about the fact he remembers shit you obviously forgot. He’s quick to question the lack of indifference, because he remembers it well that this is definitely not the first time you two talked.

“We were partners in freshman year,” Riki says.

He watches your face blank in real time, and something about it makes his mouth lift again, but not kindly enough to be mean. More like he expected it and still finds it a little funny that you are proving him right.

“English lit,” he adds. “The mythology presentation.”

For a second, he looks at you like someone who’s always known you, and you look at him like you’re seeing him for the first time. He sees it flash in your eyes, that maybe you remember him more than just some guy who sells weed to irresponsible decision-makers.

“Oh,” you say.

Riki nods once, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Oh.”

Until your phone buzzes to drag you back from this little bubble you’re in – your boyfriend’s name lights up the screen and Riki notices it too.

“Oh,” you say again, clearly out of your own head. “I — sorry.”

Something shifts, like the structure rebuilds and reasserts itself back into proper footing. You pull the bills from your wallet and press them into his hand. “Thanks,” you say. “For, um. The stuff.”

He closes his fist around the money, nods once. “Yeah.”

You hesitate like you might say something else, so you just tuck the bag away and step back. “I’ll go,” you say.

You turn the corner first. Riki exhales only when you’re out of sight, and chews on his bottom lip before hitting the side of his fist against the wall without real effort. He turns the other corner, parting from the rendezvous kept between eng lit and discounts.

The thing is, Riki knows you before whatever you are now. Miss Perfect who buys weed from Mister Lowkey Weed Seller — it’s a whole tangle in his brain in which he can’t exactly comprehend, but while he smokes a joint and music blasts through the speakers from the house party he’s dragged into, your picture’s pinned with red strings. 

He’s known you since third grade. You’ve been part of the cheer team before puberty, and since then you’ve accumulated likable girls your age into your circle, then the guys from the football team after. It becomes a whole coupling session when the age came right, which Riki is convinced is just some orgy labeled friendship goals in curated Instagram. He thought you were mean mostly because that’s what someone like you would be — but he does know a thing or two about you, other than the assumption of character. You’ve been in the same group projects against your will, sometimes you’d stand next to each other by the queue lines in the cafeteria, sometimes you’d bump against him in the hallway when you’re chasing time.

Is it weird he kept tabs? Maybe.

He always noticed, obviously, why wouldn’t he? You are not exactly unnoticeable. You’re nicer than your friends, you say sorry when you accidentally bump into someone, you say thanks to the staff, you say good morning to strangers, you’re pretty, you’re talented, you’re smart, you laugh at his jokes, you bought weed from him, you’re pretty, you’re perfect, you’re funny, you’re ridiculously pretty —

Riki takes another puff, too fast and too harsh, earning a rough cough from his throat. Heeseung chuckles, giving him an aggressive pat on the back when he leans his elbows against his knees. “Geez, first time?”

Riki shoves his arm away with a laugh, unsure where this is coming from. Because on top of every other noticeable trait you have, you have a boyfriend. So. Yeah. He knows better than to think about you.

He sinks deeper into someone else’s couch — leather, cracked at the seams — while the bass rattles the walls and bodies blur together in the dim lights. Smoke hangs thick in the air, clinging to his clothes, his hair, his thoughts. He takes another drag, slower this time, lets it sit in his lungs until the noise dulls around the edges.

Across from him, someone’s laughing too loud, then a couple is making out like it’s an Olympic sport. Heeseung steals the joint from his fingers and flicks the ash into an empty cup.

“You look fucked,” Heeseung says.

“I’m not,” Riki replies automatically.

“Mhm.”

Riki pushes himself up from the couch, suddenly restless. He just wants a drink — something cold, something that doesn’t make his head spiral because even the thought of weed pulls him back to this cheerleader. So he goes to the kitchen, instinctively saying half-assed sorry’s to strangers without meaning them. 

Until he bumps into someone.

For half a second, he genuinely wonders if the side effects are finally catching up to him, because his head feels several feet away from his eyes and the kitchen lights look more hazy than they should.

But it’s you, he knows that because your kind voice apologizes; the way you always do, the way your friends don’t. Your shoulder knocks into his chest and you’re already stepping back, eyes wide a fraction of a second when you look up. Riki freezes too, unsure what to do with his hands or his feet or where to look without threading too close to the sternum your lowcut top exposes. Up close, under dim kitchen lights instead of school hallways, you look unreal — hair loose, lips parted like you’ve been laughing. 

“Riki,” you say, breathless, like his name slipped out before your brain could catch it.

His name on your mouth does something stupid to him. 

“Hey,” he says, too softly. He’s just thankful you don’t notice the slight roughness of it.

You smile, small and polite — but there’s something else underneath it now. Recognition that shouldn’t exist, not in the structure where you’re meant to forget that you know; one where he looks up at you from beneath your echelon, now he’s standing close enough that you have to tilt your chin to look up at him.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” you say.

He huffs a quiet laugh. “I didn’t either.”

You glance past him, toward the other room, toward where your friends probably are — or your boyfriend. Then back at him, polite in a way he’s sure is because you’re you and not because he’s him.

“I don’t usually see you in… parties,” you say. 

He puts both hands in his pant pockets, shoulders loose, eyes on yours like the noise around you doesn’t have enough authority to interrupt.

“You don’t usually look,” he says.

It’s not said rudely, just calm, like he’s stating something obvious enough that both of you should stop pretending around it.

Your fingers tighten around your cup. “That’s not true.”

Riki tilts his head, eyes moving over your face. “Yeah?”

You hate how it sounds coming from him, low and slow and almost amused, like he knows you’re lying before you do. You scoff a quiet laugh, eyes looking away because you can’t keep looking at him. 

“I mean, I know you exist.” You look back up at him when you say it, bottom lip catching between your teeth before you can stop yourself.

His eyes drop for half a second, then he smirks and looks away, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek like he’s trying not to say something.

When he looks back, his face is calmer. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

The question is casual enough that it almost sounds harmless. You glance elsewhere instinctively, like you’re going to find him close. “Somewhere.”

“Specific.”

“He’s with his friends.”

Riki just nods, doesn’t wanna push, even though he’s pretty sure you don’t actually know where he is. Leaving is the smarter and normal thing to do. The thing a girl with a boyfriend and a reputation and a phone full of unread messages from her friends would do.

Instead, you stay there. And Riki’s got that tabbed already.

You hesitate, fingers worrying at the rim of your cup. “I, um. I haven’t — used it yet.”

Riki blinks. “The stuff?”

You nod, cheeks warming. “I just… don’t really know how.” It’s weird being this honest with someone you barely know, yet your bones don’t buzz with the prompt demand to pause. It must be the slight slosh, it’s the only real thing to excuse why you’re not pulling away.

For a second, he just looks at you. Then his mouth curves, slow and amused. “You bought weed without knowing how to use it?”

Your face warms, but you try not to look embarrassed. “Okay, well.” You lift your cup a little, like that somehow helps your argument. “You can teach me.”

Riki grimaces immediately, playful but clear. “Sounds like a bad idea.”

You blink. “Wow. Rude." You huff, looking away, but you’re smiling a little because he doesn’t sound scared of you. Or impressed by you. Or desperate to keep you there. He just sounds like he already knows better and hates that he has to be the one saying it.

He sighs, looking away for a second. “Fuck, fine.” his jaw clenches. “But not here.”

You try not to smile and fail almost immediately. You take one step back, still looking at him. “I’ll text you. Maybe later?”

Someone calls your name from the other room and you exhale, dragging back through the fracture. The music spikes and someone bumps into you again, closer this time, and Riki’s hand lifts instinctively, hovering over your waist without touching. 

Your eyes flick down, then back up to his. “Nice seeing you,” you say finally, voice softer now. 

“Yeah,” he says. “You too.”

You step around him, brushing past just close enough that he catches your scent — which is bad, because now he’ll have to remember that too. When you disappear back into the crowd, Riki stays rooted in place for a beat too long.

He exhales, rubs a hand over his face, and laughs quietly to himself.

He really, really knows better.

Which somehow makes it worse.

Riki glances back to see you’re sitting on the couch now, legs tucked in, your boyfriend’s arm slung easily around your shoulders. He leans in and presses a quick kiss to your cheek, which makes you smile and ease back into him. Riki turns away to open the fridge and grabs the coldest beer he can find. He lifts it and downs it in one go, throat burning at the coldness and bitter taste.

He shouldn’t do this. He really shouldn’t.

Later, in that strange lull when the party has gotten worse and louder — you text him.

You: bathroom upstairs

The bathroom is cramped and clean but gross in concept: flickering light, foggy mirror, the smell of cheap air freshener. You’re perched on the edge of the sink when he slips inside and locks the door behind him, eyes bright, a little nervous, because being in a bathroom with you feels worse than any sketchy deal he’s made.

“Okay,” you whisper, like you’re conspiring. “So. Teach me.”

He winces, glancing around. “This is… not ideal.”

You just grin. He laughs despite himself and sets the weed down on the closed toilet lid, grimacing when he starts rolling paper against it. Once he’s done, he holds the roll up to your mouth and he tells you to lick it. You follow through, leaning down and sticking your tongue out to lick the side. He clears his throat, trying not to think about the way you looked doing that, trying not to imagine anything else.

He’s careful, not clinical or a lecture when he instructs, just calm and reassuring like he’s trying to keep you comfortable more than correct. When he hands the final roll to you, your fingers shake a little as you take it.

“Like this?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Slow.”

You cough immediately after trying, sharp and sudden, bending forward with a surprised laugh. “Oh my god — why does it — ”

“Hey,” he says, too fast, stepping closer, hand hovering at your back. “You okay?”

You wave him off, still laughing, eyes watering. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

He watches you like you might disappear if he looks away. You’re laughing, which isn’t comforting Riki even in the slightest because the last thing he needs is to not be a conformist and end up in jail for accidentally supporting your homicide.

You try again, better this time. You still cough, laugh, cough again, but way more manageable as time goes by.

“Sorry,” you say, breathless.

“Don’t apologize,” he says. “You’re doing fine.”

You keep at it, stubborn in that way of yours, until the coughing eases and something in your shoulders loosens. You lean back against the wall, head tipping gently, eyes half-lidded.

“Oh,” you murmur. “That’s… actually really nice.”

Riki lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a nervous laugh slipping out. He leans back against the wall, hand through his bangs, exposing the skin of his forehead. “Jesus fucking Christ,”

You nod slowly, smiling to yourself. “My brain’s quiet.”

He watches you for a moment: relaxed, unguarded, glowing in this tiny bathroom because you don’t belong here at all, holding a joint Riki himself rolled for you. Really, you never belonged anywhere that tried to put you in a box, and he wasn’t going to make himself an exception to that opening.

He tries thinking about who you really are, beyond what most people would take you as. Though he knows not to fantasize a tale where he saves the damsel from her golden label. He takes you with memory and not assumption: cheer girl, disciplined afternoon drills, academically smart, socially competent, good. But tonight, while you lean against the cracked sink and stand diagonally across him, he sees a side he never thought he’d secretly behold.

Your eyes flick to him. “You’re a good teacher.”

He swallows. “You’re an easy student.”

Riki rolls another one for himself, hands steadier now that you’re settled, and lights it with a quiet flick. The bathroom fills with a softer haze this time, the kind that wraps instead of hits like a downer high school series. He takes a drag, exhales toward the ceiling, letting the room reek with shouldn’ts and endorphine boosters.

You smoke more confidently now, less harsh and rough when you let the smoke run down your throat. Your eyes are a little red, lashes heavier, the sharp edges of you blurred into something warmer and looser, less polished and picture perfect the way your boyfriend would like. Riki thinks — stupidly — that he’s never seen you look better.

You lean your head back against the wall again, staring at the ceiling like it’s just told you a secret. He doesn’t stare, actually. He keeps his eyes narrowed to the broken tile in front of him like he’ll discern the reason it’s cracked (maybe someone opened the door too hard, maybe someone once stood there trying to look normal while his heart acted stupid over a girl, which was especially humiliating when the whole point of being high was to feel less insane). Sometimes he’ll permit himself to glance, but even the very glimpse of your smudged lipstick makes him look away and inhale the fuck outta that weed.

Then, suddenly, with eyes still trained to the dim bathroom light — “I thought you were,” you start, then laugh, a little too loud before clapping a hand over your mouth. “Sorry. I thought you were, like… this weirdo.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Wow. Honesty hour already?”

“No — ” you groan, waving the joint like you’re conducting an orchestra. “I mean it nicely. You always stayed away from everyone. I figured you were judging us.”

“Us?” he repeats, amused, cocking a brow when he glances at you.

“You know. People like me.” You squint at him, trying to focus. You gesture at yourself ineptly, clearly out of the ordinary intellectual capacity you clench tight, not when rickety makes up for your feet.

He quickly looks away, trying not to smile. 

“Loud. Annoying.” you clarify, hand gesturing around.

He tilts his head, considering. “Was I supposed to be friends with people like you?”

You blink, like you’re thinking about what he said and calculating the rationale behind his causes. It was a hit, one that steadies a thought in your brain.

“Is that so bad?”

The question knocks the breath out of him, especially when you look up at him like that, eyes bright and wide. He blinks, and then he laughs, coming out quieter this time, looking away because he can’t keep eye contact with you. “I didn’t think you’d want that.”

“Why not?”

Because there’s a system. Because there’s levels to this shit. Because you have a boyfriend. Because you’re untouchable. Because you’re perfect and he’s whatever this was. Because people like him didn’t get pulled into your orbit unless it was transactional. Like weed exchanges and favors on the toilet. 

For now, he shrugs. “Seemed like you already had your people.” 

You hum, nodding slowly, then smile. You tap the joint, watching some ash fall to the tiles. “They’re loud.”

He smiles back despite himself. “Yeah. They are.”

The bathroom feels like it’s floating away from the music that pumps loud through the pipes, a constant reminder that there’s more than the stinky bathroom you two share as a secret. It’s risky because it’s merely wood that separates the crypticity of Mary Jane from the Average Joe you two function in individually.

You glance at the joint, then at him. “You’re not weird, by the way.”

“Oh?” he says, eyebrow lifting. He even scoffs, because he (un-admittedly) finds you adorable. 

“You’re just… quiet. You keep to yourself, but that doesn’t make you… eccentric.” You grin lopsided, cheeks warm but you ignore that. “You’re nice.”

That one gets him, more than he’d ever admit to anyone. Riki looks over, and for half a second, his gaze slips lower before he forces it back to your face. You’re already looking at him, all soft eyes and honest mouth, like you have no idea what you’re doing to him.

He looks away first, rubbing the side of his jaw like that might help. “You’re high,” he says.

“Maybe,” you confess. “But I mean it.”

He’s been called quiet and nice all his life, but that was never the full truth. He just knew who deserved access to the rest of him, and most people didn’t. It wasn’t personal. He could talk when he wanted to, laugh when something was actually funny, keep a conversation going if he cared enough. He just didn’t feel the need to prove he had thoughts by saying all of them out loud.

Riki takes a drag, exhales slowly, looking over the tiles of the bathroom while he rethinks the decision he’s about to drop. He clears his throat before speaking, “You’re not mean either.”

Your eyes widen a little, gaze recklessly steady at his side profile. “You thought I was?”

“Everyone did,” he says honestly, smiling a little.

You make a face, frowning at him even though he refuses to look at you. “That’s rude.”

He laughs, really laughs this time, head tipping back. When he looks at you again, you’re smiling up at him like you’ve discovered something new and decided to keep it. For a moment, it feels like maybe there was always a version of this where you talked in bathrooms and shared smoke and didn’t belong where people expected you to.

You take another small drag, then suddenly straighten when you decide to take him in. He’s wearing a jacket over his hoodie, simple sweats loose around his hips. Only a few strands of his dark blonde hair graze over his forehead, leading down to the sharp features you only really notice now.

You never thought Riki Nishimura was ugly. Now, you can’t help but think that he’s… kinda hot.

You’re high, you’re just gone. That’s why. It also explains why you nudge closer than you have been before, letting your skirt brush slightly against his pants, thighs grazing slightly against his.

You’re both still smoking — slow now, like the room itself has decided to breathe with you. The bathroom feels even smaller than before, shrinking with every second the music downstairs gets louder but muffled through the wooden door keeping you a secret. Your head feels light, buoyant, like you’re floating a few inches above your body. Maybe it’s the weed. Maybe it’s the half-drinks you’d taken before this. Maybe it’s neither.

He stares at the tile beneath his boot like it holds the secrets of the universe, or like it had the equations for him to understand gravity’s intentions and how it led to him feeling your softness against him.

“Is there something on the floor?” you laugh.

He just huffs, shaking his head because that’s all he can do right now. You’re still leaning back and he’s still standing just a little too close. Your knee brushes his again, accidental but not corrected.

He looks down at you then. The red in your eyes, the crooked smile, the way you’re leaning just a little toward him like gravity’s doing something new. You lean closer because you’re completely zooted and smart-Riki who knows better, leans away and only lets his chest tighten. His eyes drop traitorously down to your lips, and he’s not fast enough to look back up. You notice, of course, which makes you both look away and straighten back on your feet instead of the wall. 

Riki clears his throat, smoking the last of his before he rids of it against the sink. “You gotta go?” he asks out of the blue, which makes you frown a little. It wasn’t exactly a statement, but you know when things are implied and telling, so you shove back the nerves and remember that he’s different from you.

You’re not his type of person. He probably likes more chill people who actually know how to roll this shit — not the sheltered ones who’s clueless with THC or terms alike it.

“Yeah. I guess.” you smooth out your clothes even though nothing’s wrong with them.

He realizes what he just did, especially now that you’re not even looking back at him. He tries correcting himself, to backtrack, but the moment you glance back up, he’s silenced. You put your unfinished joint in his hand. “See you.” You say just before unlocking the door, slipping through it, and accidentally slamming it too hard.

Riki reels in from the solitude of the silence, like he’s now just realizing the ruins he broke himself. He sighs in resignation, head falling forward in defeat. “Shit.”

He stares at the thing in his hand, unfinished and yours, half-burnt and still warm.

“Idiot,” he mutters to himself, dragging a hand down his face. He can still feel the ghost of your skirt brushing his leg, the way you didn’t look back because he gave you a reason not to.

But the bathroom still smells like you — sweet perfume tangled with smoke — and the joint is there, remaining as an accusation wrapped in paper. He turns it between his fingers, thumb brushing the spot where your lipstick smudged faintly against the edge.

Riki exhales, then lifts it.

He wraps his lips around it carefully, stupidly aware of the fact that yours were there first. The thought alone makes his chest tighten, heat creeping up his neck and pelvis as he takes a slow drag.

He closes his eyes as he exhales, leaning his head back against the wall, heart thudding too loud for a room this small. For a split second, he imagines you still there — tilted smile, red-rimmed eyes, saying his name like it belongs to you, all while your boyfriend waits in the living room.

He laughs shakily under his breath. It’s so wrong.

After that, you two haven’t really talked for weeks. 

That part isn’t weird. You both have lived the majority of your lives settling with the insouciance despite recognition, and one night in a bathroom, smoke and secrets and red eyes, isn’t enough to reroute that kind of muscle memory. Riki tells himself that over and over, like it’s a theorem he’s already proven.

He hasn’t been worried. He still goes to class, still shows up on time, still hands in assignments with some effort. The only difference — although barely worth mentioning — is that he’s been dipping into his stash more often than usual. A little before bed. A little after. 

Riki exhales slowly, staring at the ceiling, telling himself — again — that this doesn’t mean anything and it doesn’t have anything to do with the cheer girl he kinda had a moment with in the bathroom.

It’s so fucked, even if you don’t think being his friend is bad, because you’re not meant to be a part of this. He was simply curious that Miss Cheerleader bought weed from him and kinda trusted him way too fast and that wasn’t just some everyday occurrence — that’s the only best psychological explanation why you’re here even when you’re not.

You have a boyfriend. He’s not about to be a homewrecker. Yet it’s not helping.

No talking for weeks, reaching a month even. That says enough. He has to stop.

“Probably about Little Miss Perfect.”

Riki flinches like someone just snapped a rubber band against the back of his neck. He sits up, glaring at Heeseung. “What the fuck,” he blurts. “How do you know that?”

Jake slowly looks up from his laptop, eyes lighting up like he just unlocked a bonus level.

“Oh my god.” Sunghoon’s grin spreads and Heeseung laughs, clapping like he’s won because technically he did, at the mental betting at what keeps Riki Nishimura downing his marijuana greenhouse.

“Ohhh,” Heeseung says, taunting and annoying. “So it is about her.”

Riki blinks. “No.”

“That was the weakest no I’ve ever heard,” Jake says immediately, pointing a finger at Riki. “You’re a guilty man, aren’t you?”

Riki scoffs, scrambling, fingers rubbing against his temple in attempts to cool. “You’re literally insane. Why would it be about her?”

Heeseung shrugs, casual. “I saw you two talking at that party.”

Riki’s stomach drops. “You — what?”

“Relax,” Heeseung says, laughing. “I wasn’t spying. You two just kinda had a freeze frame by the kitchen. Wasn’t so hard to notice.”

Riki opens his mouth, just to close it. Then he runs a hand through his hair with the irritated slant of said illegality stamped in your name. “We were just talking. Nothing happened.” Riki snaps, defensive again, hands up like he’s caught. 

Jake squints at him. “Then why are you acting like that?”

Riki looks away. Usually, it’s enough answer to more teasing and mocking, but maybe not this time. Because now, it raises actual questions that regard his very bearing at this monumental association with you — a damn unicorn of a scene snatched out a comedy fantasy movie.

Heeseung asks carefully, “Are you, like, her boy toy or something?”

Riki whips around with the flush of unpredictability and utter shock. “What? No!”

Heeseung grins again, gentler this time. “Okay, not her boy toy. What now?”

Riki exhales, long and slow, falling back supine against the floor with the decency of a man with boundaries and the understanding of someone brilliant to keep himself away. “Nothing. She has a boyfriend. She lives in a different world.”

It’s realistic. He thinks he’ll drag the shit out of his stash to get his mind off this, because Riki Nishimura was a conformist by all means.

You’re where you’re supposed to be.

You laugh at the jokes while dawdling down the hallway with girls you actually consider your friends, your boyfriend’s arm heavy around your shoulders like it belongs there. You learned how to roll your own joints now, practiced with irritated little shrieks until it stopped being embarrassing, until they came out neat and perfect between your fingers. You don’t need him. You don’t need anyone, actually. Independence always looked good and natural on you.

Then Riki walks past with Heeseung and Jay.

Backpacks slung low, shoes dragging lazily against the floor, laughing about something stupid like someone’s terrible quiz score. Riki’s eyes stay forward like always, keeping his business private from everyone. Especially from you.

You don’t acknowledge each other beyond the bare minimum of peripheral awareness of two classmates that happen to be in the same class and two planets in the same orbit. Your boyfriend tightens his arm around you, leaning down to murmur something about lunch plans. You nod, glossed lips wrapped around a lollipop, sugar sweet and cherry-flavored on your tongue. You should be listening, you’re sure you are, until he passes.

Your eyes follow Riki — not openly, just enough to catch the back of his neck, the familiar slope of his shoulders, the same boy who leaned against a bathroom wall while you were high and laughing too much, knees brushing his because the room was small and neither of you moved away.

The lollipop slides down your tongue: all artificial sugar because the substance stays at home in the back of your secret drawer, while some of it just passed you down the hallway.

“I’ll catch up,” you say lightly, lifting your boyfriend’s arm off your shoulders. “I forgot something.”

You slip away before anyone can think too hard about it, weaving through the hallway with your lollipop still between your lips. You keep enough distance to make it look accidental, watching as Heeseung and Jay split off with quick fist bumps and loud voices. Riki keeps walking and pushes open the door to an empty lecture hall before disappearing inside.

You stop outside, remembering that this is probably the part where you’re supposed to turn around. Where the perfect, reasonable version of you remembers her boyfriend, her friends, her place in the hallway. Where the status quo reaches for your wrist and pulls you back into line.

Well, you push the door open.

Riki is near the front row, one hand still on the strap of his bag when he looks up from his seat, legs spread wide, thumbs midway to scroll through his phone. His eyes widen slightly, posture going still like he did not think you’d actually follow him.

For some reason, it thrills you. Because now he’s looking at you.

You pull the lollipop from your mouth, twirling the stick between your fingers as the door clicks shut behind you. “Hey.”

His eyes flick briefly to the door behind you. “You lost?”

This isn’t a bathroom of some random houseparty. There’s no smoke, no music, no excuse, just you, Riki, and an empty lecture hall in the middle of the school day — which means you came here on purpose.

“You should roll a joint for me again,” you say, like it’s so simple. “One of these nights.”

Riki blinks once. Then he huffs out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “What, you haven’t learned since last time?”

You step closer anyway, slow and unhurried, allowed to exist wherever you want. He leans back against his seat, still careful and invisibly (but truly) restless. “I did.” you answer, then you smile small and lazy. “You’re just better at it.”

That gets him (because you’ve been knowing what to say to get him). His eyes lift to you, amused now, something low and unreadable settling there which sets you on fire because you have no idea what he’s thinking, not even a little hint. 

“Flattery,” he says, then scoffs.

You hum and step closer, close enough that his knee is almost in front of your thigh. Riki leans back in his seat, one arm loose over the desk beside him, phone forgotten in his lap. 

“There’s another party this weekend,” you say. “At McKay’s. You and your friends should go.”

He tilts his head. “Should we?”

“I think so.” You shrug. “Good music, large pad, beer games.” 

He chuckles, eyes dropping briefly to the floor before meeting yours again. “And you’ll be there.”

“Probably.”

“And you’ll want me to roll one for you.”

You pull the lollipop from your mouth, tapping it lightly against your lower lip as you think. “If you’re offering.”

“I’m not,” he says, but his mouth twitches.

You lean back against the edge of the desk beside him, copying his ease like you have any right to be comfortable around him. From far away, it would look casual, just two classmates talking before class. Except there’s only you standing between him and the empty rows, him sitting back in his seat, looking up at you with that unreadable expression while you try not to smile too much.

He should probably feel insulted that you only do this when nobody can see — maybe he does, if he still believes in self-respect. It’s just hard to stay offended when you’re looking at him like that.

Riki nods once. “I’ll think about it.”

Satisfied, you push off the table and head for the door. “Cool.”

When the door shuts behind you, he thinks about red eyes and smoke, about how your usual crowd will be there, your boyfriend’s arm around you just before you sneak away to Riki’s. 

You’re trouble, which makes Riki smile. ‘Cause he knows damn well he’s going to that party.

-

McKay’s house is already vibrating when Riki gets there with Heeseung, Jake, and Sunghoon — bass rattling the windows, someone yelling about cups, someone else yelling back about something incomprehensible. Riki isn’t a frat boy at all, and he doesn’t really go to parties, but the perfume layered on top of alcohol is basically familiar territory.

“This place is a fire hazard,” Jake mutters, stepping over a discarded heel.

Riki scans the room pretending he doesn’t mean to, observing layouts and people, when really he’s actually looking for one specific designer wardrobe of a person.

He doesn’t see you, but he sees your usual crowd scattered around the room, posing with red cups they barely drink from and laughing a little too loud whenever someone points a camera at them. You’re not there, nor is your boyfriend, and that usually speaks for itself already.

Heeseung nudges him, already mischievous with the smile Riki can’t see. “Little Miss Perfect?”

“Fuck off,” Riki replies, flat.

Jake’s halfway to disbelief when he narrows his eyes at Riki. “You’re already staring.”

“She’s not even here,” the former hisses.

“Looking for her, though.” Sunghoon teases, practically grinning widely.

Riki pushes past them. “I’m getting a drink.”

He doesn’t get a drink. He goes through hallways and in between bodies that nudge abruptly into him, half-assed apologies going through one ear and out the other while he properly finds footing again and again. When he gets to the bathroom and finds it locked, he groans and leans back against the wall. For now, he flicks the light on his own joint and smokes away while he waits — for you, for the bathroom, for anything to make him think going here was worth it at all. 

Too many girls brush against him, too many of them apologizing with tilted heads and lashes batting. He has no interest in rewarding the performance, not tonight, not when the party is already crawling under his skin, all bass-heavy music, sticky floors, smoke in the air, perfume clinging to his throat, and people packed so tightly he can’t move without touching someone. It’s too much at once; too loud, too hot, too bright, too dark. Then he sees it, and everything in him goes still.

Your boyfriend has another girl pushed against the bedroom wall. 

Riki sees this through the crack of the door, just slightly opened enough for him to see how he moves his hand underneath her skirt really fucking aggressively. They’re kissing too, and it’s not at all sweet or even arousing; it’s just straight out gross. He chokes, coughing so rough and loud and forward he has to lunge himself off the wall and straight through the crowd because his first instinct is you.

Your boyfriend is cheating on you.

What the fuck is happening? Why’s your boyfriend fucking a girl like someone who knows nothing about clits? Now, Riki isn’t an expert about pleasing women but he’s watched porn enough to know that Exhibit A over there was straight-up persecution. 

He finally spots you near the kitchen, talking to one of your friends with a cup in your hand. He starts toward you, but someone shoves past from behind, and he bumps lightly into your shoulder. You turn, already halfway to apologizing until you see him, your face already changing before you can stop it.

“You came,” you say, eyes flicking around before coming back to him.

He’s kinda out of breath, from the smoke and from hurrying, but he smiles too. “Yeah.”

While you’re still smiling, Riki clears his throat. It’s casual like he’s asking for a lighter, not like he’s abput to derail your night, ‘cause truth be told, he’s not sure he knows how you’ll react to the information. To be honest, he thinks about how it’s only fair — maybe — because he doubts your boyfriend knows you sneak into bathrooms with another guy. And sure, his hand isn’t performing DJ on your pussy, but the shared secrecy of eye contact with loaded tension is much more intimate than whatever the hell that was.

“Uh,” he says, hand rubbing on his jeans. “Can we talk? Like. Somewhere quieter.”

You blink. Then you nod, already stepping closer so he has to lean down to hear you.

“Bathroom or outside?” you ask, half-teasing.

“Outside,” he says easily.

The night is cold enough to make everything feel quieter, like it’s only the two of you standing under someone’s porch light while music leaks through the walls behind you. It’s strange, because you’re not even friends, not really, but the little space between you feels private in a way Riki doesn’t know what to do with. He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath since the second he walked into the house, then leans back against the railing and looks at you standing across from him.

He tries finding the words first, but the way you’re looking at him tightens his chest faster than his brain can work out. Is this karma for your cheating boyfriend? Is he the instrument God has given you to slam notes back to the guy you’re practically cheating on too? 

Then Riki clears his throat, casual as hell. “I saw something inside,” he continues, tone still chill but eyes a little sharper now. “Your boyfriend.”

Your smile falters. “What about him?”

“He’s, uh.” Riki taps ash off the joint. “He was fucking a girl. On a wall.”

You stare at him for a while, and he’s half-expecting you to lash out, on him, on the crowd, on your boyfriend, on something. 

Instead, you laugh this small, amused breath that slips out of you before you shrug, like he told you your boyfriend spilled punch on his shirt and not that he had just seen him with another girl.

What the fuck is happening?

It feels a lot like you don’t care and that surprises Riki leading him down a rabbit hole of introspection. He was already expecting you to cry and sob or scream in the party about how much of a dick he is, how you trusted him and gave him everything — all things they do when they find out their boyfriends are cheaters.

No, you just, “Wow.” then huff a laugh. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

He blinks once, watching you carefully while you regather your thoughts as a woman who’s been said something paltry rather than an admission of an affair. To be honest, Riki doesn’t understand, so now he just stands there and looks stunned. And confused. Very confused, actually.

Riki squints at you like he’s trying to solve a trick question. “That’s it?” he asks. “That’s your reaction?”

You shrug, lifting your cup to your lips for a sip. “I mean. It’s been happening. “We’re just sorta together for our parents. They’re friends so… but that’s a story for another night.”

Oh. He never thought fake relationships were a thing.

That makes sense. How come Riki didn’t know? Was he so out of touch from school gossips hat he genuinely didn’t know that you’re actually not the perfect couple he thought you two were? Is that why Heeseung and Jake and Sunghoon didn’t react so badly? Has this been a thing? Oh my God, Riki’s ecstatic and he hasn’t even finished a joint yet.

He lets out a quick, unguarded sound. “Jesus.”

You lean back against the railing across from him, far too relaxed for a revelation that should have ruined someone’s eyeliner. Riki watches you for a second, waiting for the anger, the hurt, the sharp inhale before you turn and storm back inside. But you just stand there, cup in hand, looking more inconvenienced than heartbroken.

That’s when it hits him, slow and weirdly humiliating, that you might not care about the relationship at all.

“But,” you say lightly, “thanks for telling me.”

He blinks, then shakes his head a little. “Yeah.” His voice comes out slower than usual. “No worries.”

You glance at the joint between his fingers, your eyes lingering a second too long on the veins along his hand. “You always this heroic when you’re high?”

“No,” he says, deadpan. “It’s just who I am.”

You laugh, and despite everything, his mouth twitches. He looks back toward the door, half-expecting your boyfriend to come out and make the night complicated. When no one does, he relaxes, shoulders easing, but not completely.

Because this is new information.

Someone inside screams the chorus to a song, and the night’s way too cold for the silence that buzzes. Riki offers the joint without looking at you, just holds it out between two fingers like it’s nothing.

You hesitate for half a second. But you take it.

“You have a car?” you suddenly ask while you take a puff.

Riki blinks once, then lets out a quiet laugh, dragging his thumb along the bridge of his nose. Right, so this is his life now. He sells you weed one time, and somehow he’s standing outside a party while your boyfriend (?)  cheats inside and you look mildly bored about it.

It’s stupid. It’s also the most interesting thing that’s happened to him in months.

So he just sighs and slumps back a little. “Yeah. I do.”

“Let’s go,” you say, completely not a question, flicking the finished joint on the pavement and trampling it beneath your heel. “I wanna smoke.”

He lets you trail after him through the side yard like this is already something you do, like he isn’t silently praying no one sees you following him away from the party. Gravel crunches under your shoes, the bass growing duller behind you as you cross the street toward his Supra, parked sleek and dark under the streetlamp. Riki unlocks it without looking back, rounds the hood, and opens the passenger door for you like it’s nothing.

You notice. You just don’t say anything.

Inside, the car actually smells clean and like coffee, for someone you’ve assumed is mad about marijuana and sorts alike (well, again, he’s proven how neat he is just for smelling so fucking good). He slides into the driver’s seat and just sits there for a second before turning the engine on, heater clicking low. 

The silence settles, but it doesn’t feel awkward, which Riki finds suspicious. Maybe it’s because you’re not acting like the version of you he’s used to, all neat edges and perfect timing. Now your heels are on the floor of his car, your hair is loose around your face, and you’re curled into the passenger seat of a Supra you’ve never sat in before like your body decided to trust him before your brain could argue. He clears his throat, trying to get rid of the warmth at the back of his neck, but you only glance at him like you don’t notice. The hem of your skirt rides up consequently, and he tries his hardest not to look.

“Thanks. For caring.”

He shrugs, one hand resting loose on the steering wheel. “Didn’t feel right not to tell you.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I know.”

The radio flicks on — some pop song bleeding through the speakers. He then pulls out pre-rolled joints from his pockets, which he sheepishly apologizes for hygiene and, well, it’s a bit delated, although you just smile and take one. He lights yours up and you two stay there, settled in his warm seats, dissolving the chill with cannabis down your system like two people who doesn’t give a shit about the system and fucking power dynamics and popularity status.

Again, weird. Hanging out in his car like you’re old buddies who smoke in free time on the usual. 

If he told himself a month ago that he would be smoking weed with the team cheer captain, he would have laughed his ass off about inhaling too much narcotics that totally screwed mental frameworks. Yet now, he’s stealing a few glances at you beside him, getting high off his greens, and he doesn’t feel completely off-center about it. It’s the weed obviously, but he feels steady. It’s charged because you’re not talking but your thoughts are everywhere, and even if you protrude the profile of indifference — he knows you care. Then again, what does he know about you, right? You are the odd in the equation, the alternative hypothesis that proves the difference in variables, and talks about the impact on the situation.

Now, conformist Riki Nishimura, who has spent his whole life respecting the ladder, is starting to wonder what happens if he climbs high enough to stand beside someone like you.

He stares through the windshield the second before he speaks. “You’re not what people think you are.”

You blink, caught off guard as you turn to him. “Is that good or bad?”

He huffs. “Depends who’s thinking it.”

You smile a little, your eyes moving over him before you can pretend they didn’t. Riki isn’t brawny in that loud, gym-mirror way, but he’s taller than he should be, broader than he looks from a distance, and unfairly very put together. His throat moves when he breathes in, and you catch yourself watching it for one embarrassing second too long.

You chew on your bottom lip. “And what do you think?”

Riki shifts in his seat, hand fidgeting against the wheel like he’s weighing how honest he’s allowed to be. “I think you’re quieter than your reputation.” 

You study him now — the calm posture, the way he never overdoes anything, the way his voice stays even like he’s learned not to tip his hand. 

He glances at you, then back ahead. “Makes it easier.”

You look at him for a second too long. “Easier for who?”

“You tell me.”

The car feels smaller and the windows are fogged enough that the streetlamp outside is just a blur of light now, like you’ve been sealed off from everything else. Away from the reality that boxes you two into something that makes sense rather than accepts. 

You laugh once, but it comes out softer than planned. “You always psychoanalyze girls in your car?”

“No.”

“Just me?”

His mouth twitches. “You asked.”

You turn your head toward the window, trying to keep your face normal. “You don’t know me that well.”

“I know.”

Riki finally turns to you, one hand still resting loose on the steering wheel. His eyes are a little low, a little unreadable, but not careless — that might be the problem.

“I’m not saying I do,” he says. “I’m saying people don’t either.”

Your fingers fidget with the joint, rolling it carefully between them even though you’re barely paying attention to it anymore. The tip glows faintly, forgotten for a second, and Riki reaches over without thinking to tap the ash into the tray before it can fall on your skirt.

You look down at his hand, then back at him when he hands it to you.

“Don’t you think that’s weird?” you ask. “Like, what kind of girl is cheer captain and smokes weed? Who gets into a fake relationship because of her parents? Doesn’t that sound kind of fucked?”

He looks at you for a moment.

Then he leans back, eyes returning to the windshield. “I sell weed.”

He says it from the driver’s seat of a spotless car that smells like coffee and cologne. It’s stupidly funny, actually, the whole contrast of him that kinda looks like you.

You laugh before you can stop yourself. “That’s different.”

“How?” he snickers.

You open your mouth, then close it again because you don’t actually have a good answer. “I don’t know,” you admit, laughing a little. “It just is.”

He hums like he expected that. Then he glances at you before back through the windshield. “I don’t think you’re weird,” His eyes flick over your face. “I think you’re bored.”

Obviously, that makes you furrow your brows. Obviously, you let him continue speaking.

“Of your boyfriend. Your friends. Your parents already knowing what you’re going to do.” His mouth twitches faintly. “Probably bored at being good at the same shit every day.”

You should probably deny it. It surprises you that you don’t, even though you’ve sworn hatred towards men that think they can assume your personality because of one little circumstance.

“That’s why you’re here, right?” Riki’s eyes drop to your hand, then back to your face. 

Your throat tightens.

“With me,” he adds.

He doesn’t smile like he won, he just sits there with one hand loose on the wheel, like he already knows the answer and is kind enough not to make you say it.

The air between you feels worse, like the moment before a storm cracks open into his car, and electrocutes you with a spark you’ve never experienced in your life. Which is eccentric considering you’re not the type of girl who’d be in Riki’s car instead of a party dominated by your friends, getting high off shit that would make your parents pass out. 

You scoff and look away, shaking your head like the whole thing is ridiculous. “You talk like you know everything.”

“I just guessed one fucking thing.”

You roll the joint between your fingers again, slower now. “Maybe I just wanted to try something.”

“With me?”

Your eyes cut to him, and you see there’s a slight curve to his mouth, like he heard the shape of your answer before you even made it. 

You huff. “You’re so annoying.”

Neither of you moves. Just suspended there, breathing the same warm air, the song on the radio dissolving into background noise, the world narrowed down to inches and intent and maybe weak will and strong urges. The tension’s palpable, solid enough that you could feel it grow between your thighs.

You’re probably one more joint away from being zooted, and Riki knows this of course, which is why he keeps his eyes narrowed across him and not the woman who’s audibly shifting in her seat. 

He’s high too — faster than usual — and it makes the moment stretch in this you know kind because he’s thinking bad. He keeps his gaze trained somewhere between the fogged windshield and the blur of your reflection in it, like it’s the only thing keeping him at bay.

For the record — you’re both twenty, obviously adults, even if the world still insists on calling you kids. Which is also the very age people let you experience the paradox of being too grown and too immature for anything consistent, so the underestimation you endure as an adult, smart woman, cheerleader, and a kinda-child — wow you’re in deep detestation for that system.

So you take control of things you can handle.

You’re a conformist, no doubt. Except in areas you loathe men’s freedom in yet expect restraint for women. So… in diminutive ways, you indulge. Like weed. Like running council. Like wearing short skirts. Like Riki Nishimura.

You glance at him sideways, voice light, almost bored. Almost. “So,” you say, like you’re asking about his major or what song’s playing on the radio. “I will ask you something kind of personal.”

Riki exhales a quiet laugh. “You’re already in my car smoking my weed. I think the line’s gone.”

You smile, satisfied, then tilt your head back against the seat. 

“Are you a virgin?”

The question hangs there. Unembellished and very dangerous in its simplicity. Also, of course, bold, which makes Riki actually freeze — a half-second pause where even his breathing stutters. Then he scoffs, shaking his head like he can’t believe you just dropped that between the heater hum and the low bass leaking from the house.

He blames the weed, though part of him wishes it isn’t from that.

“You always ask things like that?”

“I’m curious,” you say easily. “And a little high.” you gesture with your thumb and forefinger.

He rubs the back of his neck, eyes flicking to you now despite himself. “Why?” he asks. “Does it change your opinion of me?”

You meet his gaze, unblinking. “I don’t know yet. That’s why I asked.”

He huffs a soft laugh. He admits to embarrassment, even if it doesn’t cover his entire skin with flush and heat, he’s never found himself in this position. But honestly, nothing from the past few weeks has ever been something he prepared for — which he has you to blame, of course.

“Yeah.” he licks the corner of his lips, refusing to meet your eyes while he taps the steering wheel. “I am.”

Your eyebrows lift, impressed but not shocked. “Huh.”

Riki looks over. “Huh?” he mocks.

You bite back a smile and turn toward the window, but the reflection gives you away. “I just didn’t expect that.”

He scoffs, looking back at the windshield. “Why?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, still smiling a little. “You sell weed. And you drive this car.”

“And?”

“And you look like that.”

For one second, Riki’s fingers still on the steering wheel, and he learns to shut up. He lets out a quiet laugh after, but it sounds different this time, lower and almost embarrassed. “You’re so fucking high,”

That makes him quiet, makes him adjust on his seat. He’s touched a woman before, but no one’s ever sat on his dick, nor has he ever been in anyone. So maybe he’s half a virgin, maybe he’s just a sore loser. He watches you as you move, as you turn in the seat, knees pressing into the leather, facing him fully now. The space changes instantly, the air recalibrating around your movement and maybe even pushing you further toward him.

Riki stiffens — just suddenly very aware, and perhaps a little scared. “Uh,” he says, brows knitting. “What are you doing?”

You tilt your head, resting your hands casually on the seat, perfectly balanced. “Bored, like you said,” you say. “And my boyfriend’s cheating on me. Again.”

He swallows. His gaze drops, then snaps back up to your face, like he’s trying very hard to stay respectful and failing in slow motion because you’re especially gorgeous tonight. “That’s… not a great combo,” he says.

“Not really,” you agree.

You lean in just enough for him to feel it — not touch, not yet. Just close enough that he can smell your gloss, the faint sweetness still clinging to you, and the cannabis that if he warrants himself the scary concept, is his mark on you.

“At least you don’t think I’m boring.”

Riki exhales, a real one this time, like he’s surrendering to the moment instead of fighting it because what can a simple guy like him do, right? His eyes flick to your mouth again — longer now — and when he looks back up, there’s a decision there, from someone who’s tired of conforming.

You close the distance then, slow enough that he could pull away if he wanted to. When he doesn’t, your lips meet in a kiss that’s brief and soft at first. Riki’s hand lifts instinctively, stopping just short of your waist, hovering there like he’s giving you the choice.

When you kiss again, you’re pressing harder, with the very intent to steal the air from his lungs. So that is what happens, you inhale and climb over the console and close your knees around his waist and he’s breathing shakily against your mouth, fighting for the oxygen he’s willingly giving away. 

Your cunt presses against the zipper of his jeans, and when you roll, he pulls away like he’s burnt. 

“W-wait — this isn’t — we can’t do this.” He shakes his head insistently, looking down your joined thighs while he regains composure.

You frown. “Why not?”

He looks back up at you, eyes wide and glossy from the taste of your cherry gloss and his greens in your mouth. He looks like he can’t handle this. You’re high, he’s high, this isn’t a good idea. You’re perfect, he’s not, this isn’t a good idea. You’re pretty and he sells weed, this isn’t a good idea.

“Because you have a boyfriend.” he says weakly.

You smile, fingers brushing into the hair at his nape. “Not really.”

He stares at you before he laughs, quiet and disbelieving, like the whole situation is so stupid he has no choice but to let it be funny for half a second. You’re in his lap, his car is fogged, your party is across the street, and apparently your boyfriend is more of a family arrangement than an actual person you care about. 

“This is so fucked,” he mutters.

Still, he kisses you anyway. His hand finally settles at your waist, firm enough to make your breath catch. His fingers press into your flesh just before he pulls you closer and his hips thrusts up underneath you.

His bulge presses hard against your clothed cunt, and a small whimper slips out his mouth. Your thighs practically clench around him, your core tightening as you rub yourself on him. Beneath the jeans secured around his hips, the start of his v-line peeks, in which you softly graze with your thumb.

“F-fuck,” he whispers, resigned while he lets his head fall back against the headrest.

When you kiss him again this time, it’s slow and languid and licking into his mouth, and your hips start rolling against his while he unconsciously bucks into you. You gasp at the feeling of his growing erection despite the jeans, and you can’t help but feel rushed because it’s been way too long. 

His body’s hot and he doesn’t understand why he can’t even talk properly. “Are you okay?” you ask, kissing his cheek. He just nods.

“This is so wrong,” Riki says softly and raspy.

You just smile and kiss him again, feeling how sloppy he’s starting to become when your tongues meet. You set the pace, careful with how you bite and suck, more of a learning curve with what you like best rather than devouring. Riki realizes this and slows down too, relaxing underneath your thighs while his cock remains bulging against you. Your soft fingers slither at the back of his hair, tugging and caressing, while he finds the courage to sneak his tongue into your mouth.

When you pull to breathe, he’s practically panting. “You can touch me.” you whisper.

His gaze practically flicks up to look up at you, silently asking for clarification. You don’t use words, you instead take his wrists and start dragging his hands from your waist to underneath your shirt. His breath hitches at the feeling of your soft skin against his, watching intently as you guide his hands further beneath your cotton top, until his fingers slightly grazes the soft swell of the underside of your breasts.

“Shit.” Riki mutters, his breath unstable when you let go. He looks for your eyes, asking for instructions, except you just smile and lean in to kiss him again with your hands on his jaw. 

So he takes it upon himself to move by his own. His fingers grazes the soft skin, careful and learning, testing the underside swell by gently squeezing. After that, he gains confidence, hands going further up until they touch your nipples. 

You gasp, pulling away to breathe when he starts gently pinching them, rolling them against the pads of his fingertips. He plays with them for a little while, watching your reactions when you sigh heavy, when your eyes close, when you lean further against his touch. It’s so good, he doesn’t even notice how painfully hard he is when he can feel just how sensitive your nipples are, when he can feel the weight of your breast as he cups them.

After a while, he finally stops, hands gliding down your ribs instead, thumbs still grazing slightly at the curve. Your kissing eases, reduced to pecks and softness. At rest and caress, you giggle and he chuckles, finally reeling in from the moment at how high he feels.

From your taste, your softness, your clothed pussy still pressing against his hard-on.

“You’re good for a virgin.” you say.

At that, Riki huffs and leans his head back against the rest, caressing your waist while he watches your face. You’re very pretty, even when your lipsticks smudged and you’re clearly teasing him, not touching him at all. 

He doesn’t mind. He doesn’t think he’ll mind for a long time. “I’m trying to make decent decisions.”

You tilt your head. “And kissing me is one?”

His jaw tightens a little, but he smiles. “It’s a very bad decision.”

“Mm.” You lean closer, but you don’t kiss him this time. “You stopped.”

“Because I don’t want to be your rebound,” 

The teasing fades just a little. Your fingers, which had been lazily tracing the back of his neck, slow, and now you look at him too, at the way he’s looking at you like something cliche is about to happen now that he’s tasted something better than marijuana.

“You think I’d use you?” you ask.

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

You study him for a moment. His nose and ears are still pink, which admittedly does something to you. It makes him look shyer somehow, less untouchable, like all that quiet control has slipped just enough for you to see he’s not as unaffected as he wants to seem.

He looks back at you, thumb moving once at your waist. “Let me take you out.”

You stare at him. “You’re asking me on a date right now? While I’m sitting on you?”

His mouth twitches despite himself. “Not my best timing.”

You laugh, soft and surprised, but he doesn’t laugh with you right away. You lean in again, slower and softer, just lips meeting and staying there, but his breath still hitches. You lets it last for a few seconds before you pull back, still close enough that your noses nearly brush.

“Ask me when we’re not high.”

Then he laughs once, quiet and disbelieving, his hand flexing at your waist. “Fine.”

Riki drives you home that night and you arrive at around 3 am, friends completely unaware of where you are or who you’re with — but you don’t care, even when your phone’s blown out of weird proportion. You laugh when he insists on walking you to your front porch, just to make sure you don’t slip and fall and he wouldn’t lose his favorite weed customer. 

“You’re ridiculous, Riki Nishimura.” you shove at his arm weakly.

“And you,” he leans down enough that his nose nudges yours. “are so pretty.”

You laugh harder, admittedly a little flustered the way you never have been before. He tells you to eat something real when you head in, and you mock him for it but he just smiles and nods,  agrees with the idea he is so, very stupid and funny for you.

Riki thinks the universe is testing him. Because ever since last night, every single thing reminds him of you. 

The cherry gloss taste still ghosting his mouth when he wakes up, the faint perfume lingering on his hoodie, even the stupid heater smell in the car feels different now, like the seats remember the way you climbed over the console and kissed him until his dick ached for you.

“Dude,” Jake says, throwing his duffel bag. “You look like shit.”

Riki drags a hand through his hair. “Thanks.”

Jake doesn’t push it, which Riki appreciates for about three seconds before he sees where the cheer team is practicing. On the other side of the gym court, you’re standing with your friends, ponytail tied high, hands on your hips while you go over counts as the captain. You’re not doing anything special, occasionally laughing at something one of the girls beside you says, but Riki still feels his attention pull toward you like it has no discipline left.

He looks away first.

PE is already starting by the time he reaches their side of the court. He pulls his sleeveless shirt down properly and rolls his shoulders once, mostly because he needs something to do with his body. His hair keeps falling near his eyes, and he can feel sweat gathering at the back of his neck before class has even properly started.

He tells himself not to look. But then he looks.

You’re already looking too.

It only lasts a second. Your eyes meet his, then drop briefly to his arms before you turn back to your friends like nothing happened. Riki presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek and looks at the ball in his hands, suddenly way too aware of himself.

Jake notices, but all he does is glance between the two of you. “Since when do you know her like that?”

Riki bounces the ball once. “I don’t.”

Jake gives him a look. Riki doesn’t look back. “Not like that.”

“Okay.”

The drill starts, and for a while, it’s just run, catch, dribble, pass, move. Riki focuses on the court, on the PE teacher’s whistle, on the ball against his palms. It works for half the time, until your voice cuts across the space, counting with the rest of the cheer team, and he misses a pass by half a second.

“Pay attention,” Jake says, not even laughing.

“I am.”

“You’re really not.”

Later, when the class breaks for water, Riki walks toward the drinking fountain and finds you there already, refilling your bottle. Your friends are a few steps away, talking among themselves, close enough to notice if either of you makes it obvious, far enough that neither of you has to pretend not to see each other.

He stands behind you to wait for his turn, and from afar, it doesn't look scandalous. You take your time refilling your bottle, eyes forward, one hand steadying the plastic under the stream. He keeps his gaze on the wall in front of you, jaw working once, because he knows exactly what you're doing when you lean a little farther than necessary and let the silence stretch.

Your skirt shifts when you bend, showing the backside of your thighs and the slight swell of your ass, and he sighs through his nose like he's deeply disappointed in both of you. Then he looks away completely.

You bite back a smile.

When the bottle finally fills, you straighten and cap it slowly, still not moving right away. He doesn't meet your eyes when you step aside, he just moves in, bends toward the fountain, and presses one hand against the edge for balance.

Then it's your turn to look away. But you don't, not even shamelessly. Because you’re the girl who got things her way and never got scared of the repercussions.

His sleeveless shirt pulls against his shoulders when he leans down, arm tense from holding himself there, the veins along his bicep showing under the gym lights. Water hits his mouth, and you watch the way his hair falls near his eyes, the way his throat moves when he swallows. It's stupid, actually, how normal he's being and how much worse that makes it.

Riki finishes drinking, straightens, and wipes the water from his chin with the back of his hand. Only then does he look at you.

You're still staring. And for a second, neither of you says anything.

His expression barely changes, but something in his eyes does, like he caught you and decided not to make it easy. "What?"

You blink, then lift your bottle a little. "You took forever."

He looks at you, calm, unreadable, except for the faint color rising at the tips of his ears and the slight lift on the corner of his mouth. "You're one to talk."

Your friends laugh at something behind you, and the sound snaps the moment thinner, not enough to break it, but enough to remind you both where you are. You glance over your shoulder, then back at him, only to find he's still watching you. Not obviously, just enough to show that he knows exactly what that night did to you, and worse, exactly what this day is doing too.

And that he’s enjoying the view.

You tuck your bottle against your chest and step back. "Try not to miss another pass."

His mouth curves. "Then don't distract me."

The second he says it, your smile gets bigger, like a shared inside joke between you two now. Then you turn back to your team, and he stays by the fountain for one extra second, pretending the afternoon heat is the reason he can't stop feeling warm. In the locker room, he pretends it’s celibacy that’s making his cock hard again, and not the picture of you bending in front of him, the fat of your ass presenting itself to him so adorably.

In the cafeteria, while pages turn and keyboards clack for an upcoming test for biology, you try your best to stay focused the way you can on the usual. Riki was right about you — you were smarter than what people thought, and the merit beside your name is shocking to a whole lot when it’s pasted on the board. 

You think you’re no longer smart. Not when you’re staring at the open reviewer in front of you, color coded with little sticky tabs but you’re still distracted.

You grab your coffee and drink, just to try if that could help with your lost concentration. Something about protein synthesis and cell division. Something about how Riki’s hands looked wrapped around the steering wheel that one night while he called you weird and interesting in the same breath.

This is so inconvenient.

“Babe.”

Your boyfriend slides into the empty chair beside you like he owns the furniture, sunglasses pushed up on his head even though the cafeteria lighting could barely offend a bitch. His hand settles automatically on your thigh beneath the table, casual and familiar, and you almost flinch.

“You disappeared last night,” he says casually.

You lean back in your chair. “I told you I left.”

“Yeah, but where?”

You think briefly about Riki’s car parked under the streetlamp — fogged windows, heated air, cherry gloss smeared on his mouth, plump lips smirking in restraint, hands squeezing you in the right place, keeping you in place.

“I just went home,” you reply smoothly.

Your boyfriend hums, clearly unconvinced, but also has about three seconds of emotional stamina left for the topic, so he lets it go and steals one of your fries instead. “My parents want dinner with you this weekend.” he says instead.

He continues talking about it but you’re staring at the flashcards and reviewers in front of you, imagining what your parents would say if Riki would’ve showed up to a family dinner instead. Maybe he’d appear in different clothes, a white button-up just to sit there and attempt to look polite in ways he isn’t with you — which makes your heart jump a little. 

Dinner drags on for three excruciating hours.

Three whole hours of crystal glasses and polished silverware and your boyfriend’s parents discussing investment portfolios. The restaurant is one of those stupidly expensive places where portions are microscopic and every waiter looks vaguely judgmental — you don’t complain, you’re rather very grateful for his parents (sometimes).

You sat there in a pretty dress your mother picked out. Your boyfriend talks over you twice when you try contributing to the conversation, his mother asks about your grades before asking how cheerleading is going, like academics and aesthetics are the only two things remotely interesting about you. At some point, your boyfriend likes another girl’s Instagram story right beside you at the table and everything about the night is just bad.

You just feel tired, especially on the way home. 

Tired in the way performances always leave you feeling like you’ve spent hours acting inside a role you got stuck with years ago — because it mostly worked in your favor, until that one time you decided to jump out of your comfort zone and try weed. It’s the worst thing you have done, but it’s the only thing that made you feel good.

Your heels click quietly against the marble floors when you enter your house and you make it halfway upstairs before the pressure behind your eyes finally cracks. Obviously, you don’t sob out of sadness, just frustrated tears slipping down your cheeks while you struggle with the zipper of your dress. “Fuck,” you mutter.

Your makeup’s ruined now; mascara faintly smudged beneath your eyes, lipstick mostly gone except for traces still staining your mouth. 

Before you can think too hard about it — which is kind of bad — you open Riki’s contact, and your fingers move faster than your dignity can intervene.

you: he actually sucks so bad like genuinely i think talking to drywall has more nuance

You exhale through your nose and laugh weakly at yourself because obviously Riki probably has better things to do than babysit you after 9PM, not when you’re just another weed customer and smoking buddy he had. You toss your phone onto the bed and sit in silence for a second, still in your dress, earrings discarded somewhere.

You try not to think about anything for the minutes you’ve spent staring at the ceiling: not about Riki, or your dumb boyfriend, or your (im)perfect life, or the way Riki kissed you, or the way he looked at you, or the way he thought about you. 

Because that's the part that bothers you most. Not the kiss itself, not even the fact that you wanted it, but the way he seemed to actually think about you before touching you. Like you weren't just pretty or convenient or someone people liked because you made sense beside them. Riki looked at you like he was trying to understand you, and somehow that felt more intimate than anything you've ever had.

And maybe that makes you painfully average.

Maybe you’re not special at all, maybe you’re just another girl in the long, embarrassing history of girls who developed feelings for the first boy who looked at them like they were a person. Congratulations, really. Very original and groundbreaking, for being part of the emotionally confused teenage girls.

You turn onto your side and press your face into your pillow, immediately hating yourself for how dramatic that feels.

Until something taps three times against your window.

Your brows furrow immediately because your bedroom is on the second floor and nobody normally knocks on windows like some suburban horror movie, you don’t even try to look because of what could be there. For a second, you genuinely think you’re hallucinating from emotional exhaustion and expensive restaurant food and maybe (you did not do prior research) the possibility of the long term hallucinations of marijuana.

Then it happens again. Three deliberate taps.

You sit up slowly from the edge of your bed, the strap of your dress slipping off one shoulder while your heels remain abandoned somewhere near the door. When you turn to the window, your heart practically falls from your chest when you see Riki standing outside like a fucking delinquent moron. He’s standing on the roof of the first floor near your window, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, while one hand steadies himself against the frame. 

You burst out laughing while fumbling with the lock of your window. Riki’s entire expression softens the second he hears you laugh and that does something unhealthy to him.

Because he drove for twenty minutes thinking about you crying over some guy who doesn’t even look at you properly, wondering if climbing a house at this hour officially qualifies as insanity (he’s never done that before, and it doesn’t sound so conformist right now either). Riki’s usually good at self-restraint, at risk assessment, at understanding what makes sense and what doesn’t.

For the record, this doesn’t make sense. Yet here he is anyway.

 “Hi.”

You stare at him in disbelief once you finally open your window. “What the fuck are you doing?” you whisper-yell.

“You sounded sad.”

“Is that supposed to be an answer?”

“What?” he says defensively while climbing inside carefully. “You said your boyfriend sucks. That sounded shitty.”

The second he lands properly inside your room, he looks at you before anything else. He’s used to seeing you fixed with perfect hair, perfect smile, perfect posture, like you just stepped out of a university brochure about good conduct and that the school cheer spirit is something one definitely needs for personal development.

This version of you feels familiar, and traitorously and selfishly, he thinks it’s for him.

Your dress is wrinkled now, your jewelry sits slightly crooked against your skin, your makeup’s smudged enough to expose the eyebags underneath, and your hair’s started falling from whatever expensive style you wore to dinner.

Riki swallows once before he can stop himself. “You were crying?”

Immediately, you look away, a bit embarrassed when you realize what you look like. “Don’t make it weird.”

“I’m not making it weird,” he says quickly, hands lifting instinctively. “I just.”

He cuts himself off because he suddenly realizes he has no idea how to navigate this. Girls usually don’t text him while being miserable and summon him to their bedroom windows like some modern romance movie directed by a bad romcom enthusiast. Nothing is romcom-y about this.

So instead, awkwardly, he holds the backyard vegetation toward you.

“I got you these.”

Flowers. They aren’t roses and lilies, especially not the peonies your boyfriend orders because it looks better in pictures. They’re not anything arranged like the bouquets your boyfriend’s family sends during competitions and birthdays and events where impression matters. They usually screamed ‘I have money’ so I had my manager fix these for you.

Riki brought you wildflowers, which are tiny white, yellow, and purple ones bundled unevenly together like he picked them himself on the side of the road and decided, yeah, these ones are perfect. They’re crooked and asymmetrical and a little pathetic, and it weirdly looks a lot like you.

You take them carefully, looking down at the tiny flowers bundled together with what suspiciously resembles a broccoli rubber band.

“Oh my God,” you laugh quietly. “These are so ugly.”

He looks offended immediately. “Okay, first of all, fuck you.”

You laugh, open and loud. “They’re literally weeds.”

“I mean. Matches us, no?” he argues.

You’re still smiling when you bring them closer to inspect, and he notices your eyes when you admire them because he notices everything when it comes to you now, apparently.

“He made you cry?” he asks quieter this time.

You look up at him, flowers resting against your chest while you slump a little. “Not exactly.”

He raises his brows. “That means yes.”

You sigh, gaze dropping to the petals between your fingers. “He’s just…” You shake your head slowly. “I don’t know. I guess I’m really sick of it.”

Riki stays quiet — not because he doesn’t have thoughts, but because he has too many.

The thing is, he understands that social hierarchy is basically one giant theater production and he’s spent his entire life studying how to survive inside it correctly — he’s admitted to live in it quite comfortably. Which people to talk to, which ones to avoid, what behavior keeps life stable and uncomplicated, who not to sell weed to.

You were supposed to be part of that stable world, the part that he shouldn’t have had any associations with. Instead, you’re now standing barefoot in front of him holding ugly flowers with watery eyes while confiding in him like he’s become something safe. Now he’s giving a girl weeds for flowers, while his own cannabis has become untouched for quite a while now.

You narrow your eyes up at him suddenly, a teasing smile on your lips. “You could’ve used the front door.”

“And say what?” he snorts. “‘Good evening, your daughter texted me so I’m here to comfort her?”

You laugh again and Jesus Christ, he thinks he’d probably climb ten more roofs if it meant hearing that sound a second time.

Which is not good at all.

He looks around your room now, and he finds that is not in the dramatic movie sense where he’s overwhelmed by femininity and candles or whatever bullshit directors think teenage girls do in bedrooms. It’s just your space and that feels undeniably you in a way he’s never gotten access to before — never thought he would, actually. There’s a stack of annotated reviewers on your desk beside skincare products, then a half-folded cheer uniform hangs over your chair. Your bookshelf is organized by color at first glance, but he notices that some books are stuffed sideways and doubled-up like gave up halfway through organizing.

You’re contradiction after contradiction. Which feels fitting considering Riki’s currently inside the bedroom of a girl he once categorized under absolutely not my problem.

This is exactly why social structures exist. To prevent situations like this where a guy who sells weed ends up standing in the bedroom of a girl who looks expensive enough to kill him.

You set the flowers carefully on your vanity like they’re not random plants held together by produce rubber. Riki watches how gentle your hands are, watches the way your dress slips slightly higher on your thigh when you move.

You step closer to him after, eyes peeking through your lashes, and he starts to feel drunk from your perfume.  “You really came all the way here because I was sad?” you ask softly.

Riki opens his mouth automatically with something sarcastic prepared because that’s safer, because joking is easier than admitting the truth. But then he looks at you looking at him like he’s become something important frighteningly fast.

Honesty slips out before he can stop it. “Yeah.”

Your eyes soften in a way that completely wrecks him, because nobody’s ever looked at him like this before — like he did something meaningful instead of useful.

You step even closer now until there’s barely space between you. “You’re really bad at being casual,” you murmur.

He huffs a laugh. “You climbed into my lap the first time we kissed.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“I was high.”

“And what’s your excuse now?”

Your lips twitch and his gaze drops there instinctively.

Big mistake, because now he’s thinking about kissing you again and suddenly being in your bedroom at midnight feels significantly more dangerous than it did when he drove here. Riki clears his throat and looks away first. Usually he’s good at eye contact, good at keeping composure, good at staying levelheaded even when situations become complicated, because he knows emotional regulation keeps things orderly, predictable, and safe.

You are none of those things anymore.

Standing this close to you feels like someone slowly dismantling every sensible thought process he’s ever had and replacing it with bad decisions and pretty girls in wrinkled dresses. 

Riki swallows, eyes still not fully on yours. “Do you know what you’re gonna do?”

You sigh, shoulders dropping a little as you look away. “I don’t know.”

Riki nods, though he doesn’t look surprised. “Well,” he says quietly, “you aren’t happy.”

The honesty in his voice catches you off guard, because it isn’t dramatic or possessive or demanding — it’s actually the complete opposite. He says things carefully. Your boyfriend never talks to you carefully. 

You study Riki for a second — the slight flush across his cheeks, the hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, the fact he literally climbed your house because you sounded sad over text. 

Clearly, he’s lost the plot somewhere. He might find it in your room, but why would it be there?

You look at the boy who notices everything about you, who reads you better than anyone ever did. And maybe that’s pathetic, but after a long time of performance and image, you can’t quite find irrationality when something finally sees you so clearly. 

You don’t even realize you’re crying again until his expression changes. The tears just spill over quietly, slipping down your cheeks before you can catch them, and for a second, you don’t understand why his eyes drop there with so much concern because you aren’t sad, nor overwhelmingly happy.

His hand lifts and his fingers touch your cheek lightly and carefully. His thumb brushes beneath your eye, catching the tear before it reaches your jaw. Then the other hand comes up too, steadying your face with a gentleness that makes your throat tighten worse than the crying did. You stare up at him while he wipes your face like it’s something important, his hands warm, his touch steady even though his breathing isn’t. He just keeps his palms against your cheeks, thumbs soft under your eyes, focused on you.

Riki’s thumb slows beneath your eye, his gaze moving over your face with something almost pained. “You’re too pretty to cry over him,” he says quietly.

Your hand lifts before you can think better of it, fingers wrapping gently around his wrist to keep him there. His skin is warm beneath your palm, and for a second, his whole body seems to still when you touch him. You look up at him because he’s so tall this close, broad enough to block out half your room, and he’s holding your face like you might bruise if he moves wrong.

“I’m not crying over him,” you say, and your voice comes out quieter, “I think I’m crying because I want someone else.”

His hand stays against your cheek, but his thumb stops moving entirely. He has no immediate answer right now, no dry comment waiting in the back of his throat, no clever way to make the moment smaller than it feels. He just looks at you, like he heard you perfectly and still needs another second for it to reach the rest of him.

He shifts closer, but only slightly, careful enough that you notice the restraint. “Are you sure?”

You let out a tiny, breathless laugh. “Yes.” 

Then your gaze drops from his eyes, not because you’re embarrassed exactly, but because looking at him straight on feels like standing too close to something bright. Your eyes settle on his chest instead, on the front of his hoodie rising and falling with a breath he’s clearly trying to control. His hands move from your cheeks, careful and slow, until his palms settle just beneath your jaw while his fingers slip behind your ears, curling gently at the back of your neck. 

For a second, you think he’s going to kiss you.

Actually, you know he is. You can feel it in the way his breathing changes, in the way his eyes drop to your mouth and stay there this time, no pretending it was an accident. He’s close enough that you can smell his cologne and whatever terrible decision-making brought him to your window.

Then something in you panics — not because you don’t want him to.

That’s the problem. You want him so much it feels insulting to every sensible part of your life (even though you’ve made many irrational choices that have shamed them anyway). You want him in your room, in your space, in the middle of all the pretty, curated pieces of yourself nobody else gets to see messy. You want him, and it would be so easy to lean up and let that be the answer. But there is still one stupid, technical, irritating thing standing between you and that, so you pull back a little.

He freezes immediately, hands dropping like he thinks he did something wrong. “What?”

“I need to do something.”

His brows pull together. “Right now?”

You turn away before you can lose your nerve, moving toward your bed where your phone is half-buried in the sheets. Your hands are unsteady when you pick it up, which is annoying because you are not the kind of girl who fumbles — you are the kind of girl who answers essay questions with proper structure, corrects formations instinctively, and pretends she’s fine so convincingly that people believe it until it becomes inconvenient not to.

Calling your boyfriend while Riki Nishimura stands in your bedroom after midnight is, admittedly, not your most elegant moment, but there’s a kind of clarity to it too.

He stays behind you, quiet, watching as you scroll to the contact you have ignored for most of the night. His name on your screen looks strange now.

The call rings twice.

Riki moves closer, though not touching you yet, just behind your shoulder, close enough that you can feel the heat of him. It makes focusing much harder, which is extremely inconsiderate for someone who climbed into your room to be supportive.

Your boyfriend answers with your name, voice already irritated. “It’s late. I’m busy.”

You close your eyes for half a second. “I’m just letting you know. We’re done.”

There is a pause. “What?”

You swallow, your grip tightening around the phone. “I’m breaking up with you.”

Behind you, Riki goes very still. Your boyfriend lets out a humorless laugh. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yes.”

“After everything? After tonight, you’re just gonna call me and say that?”

You stare at the wall in front of you. It’s absurd, actually, how little the anger reaches you. Maybe you should be shaking or crying harder or preparing a speech that starts with all the ways he hurt you — instead, you feel strangely calm.

He starts talking again, louder this time, something about your parents, his parents, how you’re overreacting, how you both agreed, how you don’t get to act innocent either. Until Riki’s hand appears beside you, and he takes the phone from your hand.

Your eyes widen. “Riki.”

He looks at the screen, hears your boyfriend still talking, then tosses the phone onto the bed, where it lands face-up against the sheets, the call still running, your boyfriend’s voice now small and furious through the speaker.

“What are you doing?” you whisper.

His eyes stay on yours. “You already broke up with him.”

On the bed, your ex says your name again, sharp and confused, but neither of you are looking at the phone. 

Riki lifts one hand, not touching your face yet, just brushing his knuckles lightly near your jaw like he’s giving you one last chance to move away.

That is all he needs before he kisses you. It is not rushed, not messy from panic, just a little harsh from jealousy. But it’s slow enough to make your knees feel unreliable, steady enough that your whole body seems to understand before your brain does. You grab the front of his hoodie and he exhales against your mouth, the sound going straight through you. His hand settles at the side of your neck, thumb brushing under your jaw while his other hand finds your waist, careful but sure. 

The phone is still there, your boyfriend is still talking. It should ruin the moment, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes the whole thing feel worse in the way your heart is pounding too hard, in the way Riki keeps kissing you like he’s trying not to prove a point and failing anyway, in the way you know this is a terrible way to end a relationship and still cannot bring yourself to care.

Riki pulls back just enough to breathe, forehead almost touching yours. “He talks a lot,” he says quietly.

You laugh before you can stop yourself, and he kisses you before you can even finish a thought he physically cannot hear another word about your boyfriend tonight, earning a gasp from your mouth. It’s soft at first, his mouth catching yours that makes you go still for half a second, surprised, and then your hand tightens around his wrist as you kiss him back. He exhales through his nose, quiet and shaky, and his fingers press a little more firmly into your nape, not pulling you in too hard, just holding you.

You make this soft startled sound against his lips and he swears it nearly kills him on impact. When he pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead bumps lightly against yours. 

“I don’t wanna talk about him anymore,” he says quietly.

His voice comes out rougher than before. You stare at him for a second, and your lips twitch.

“Okay,” you whisper.

He kisses you again almost immediately, and this time you kiss him back just as fast, your chests pressing against one another until you can feel the rapid beat of his heart through his hoodie. His hands find your waist, the weight of them warm and steady through the thin fabric of your dress, like he’s grounding you and keeping himself grounded too.

You tilt your head up to meet him properly, rising slightly onto your toes without meaning to, and he bends down into you like the movement pulls something out of him. His fingers press carefully at your sides, thumbs shifting once against your waist. The kiss deepens then, your hand sliding up the front of his hoodie until you’re holding onto him too.

Riki exhales against your mouth, almost shaky, and his grip tightens for one second before he loosens it again, like he’s reminding himself to be careful.

Without so much as a few words, your gaze meets his. But that’s not enough for him, not when he needs to hear that you want this too. The zipper you struggled with earlier starts undoing when his hand finds the back, before he leans in just enough for his voice to drop between you. 

"Words, baby," he whispers.

He isn't teasing now. His voice is low, but careful, like he needs to hear you say it before he lets himself want anything more.

You swallow, fingers tightening lightly in his hoodie. "I want you."

Riki watches your face for a second, and when he sees the true genuineness and want in your eyes, he lets himself have it. He dips down to your height, capturing your lips in a kiss again, before fully pulling the zipper down to the small of your back. With barely any effort, the dress slides off your body and pools around your feet on the floor. 

Too busy getting drunk on his plump lips, you don’t even notice his hands roaming over your skin, his fingertips memorizing the arch of your spine, before gliding up to the curve of your ribcage. You don’t notice how close he really is until his fingers find the underside part of your breasts. You pull away with a gasp, seeing him smile coyly when you finally realize you’re naked in front of him, and how he’s massaging your mounds in his hands.

He lets his thumbs brush your hardened nipples, watching your face scrunch and melt with fluster. He holds you so well, heat rushing all over your skin with the way he studies your body, eyes carefully taking in every detail about you. He continues stroking your nipples and massaging your breasts when he bends down again, kissing the corner of your lips before trailing over to your jaw. He presses open mouthed kisses on your pulse next, sucking and biting to leave love bites there.

You moan, all breathy and heavy, and his cock twitches in his sweats. For a man that’s been so cautious with you, he can’t help but fight the urge to pound into you recklessly right now.

“On the bed,” he prompts softly, taking a step forward. 

You obey with no fight, pathetically stepping backward until you sit back on the soft mattress. You adjust a little to get on your knees, eyes finding his through your lashes again. He’s looking at you with half-open lids, hand already reaching up to the back of your head, fingers tangling with your hair. He likes you like this, on your knees and your face so fucking close to his bulge, he can practically see it.

And because he has been so kind to you, you want to recompense for all of it. Your fingers hook at the hem of his sweatpants, keeping your gaze steady on his face to watch the way he reacts when he realizes what you’re about to do. You drag his pants down, enough for it to slip down his legs. 

His cock bulges in his briefs, begging to be set free. You cup it gently and he lets out a low moan, deeper than his usual, and when you look up, he’s just watching you. You lean in, only to lick a stripe from the bottom to top — his grip on your hair tightens, and you feel him pull you closer. Since you both don’t hold any godly kind of willpower, you waste no time lowering the fabric.

Riki’s stupidly long cock springs forward once you remove his briefs, and everything about it just makes sense. It isn’t excessively thick in girth, but it’s length makes you wonder if it can even fit at all. It’s pale at the base and turns pink towards the tip, the slit lathered with pre all over the head, all for you.

You bite your lip, not being able to help the thrilled grin on your face, eyes bright at the sight of it. He clears his throat, caressing the back of your head gently. “You good?”

You snicker, reaching up to wrap your hand around the base. He chokes out a gasp, stilling completely yet his hips buck forward. He watches you handle him so delicately, even the way you start pumping his dick, watching the way pre-cum leaks out the tip. You lean forward, tongue flat against the head, tasting him. 

“O-oh, s-shit —” his breathing becomes heavy, arm flexing involuntarily as he keeps rubbing the back of your head.

You giggle, tilting your head a little to press soft pecks all over his length. “Watch me, sweet boy. Okay?” 

You’re a fucking tease. That’s all he manages to come up with before his brain completely blanks out when you tilt forward and let your mouth close around the head of his dick. You start to suckle on it, tongue playing with the slit a little. Then you push forward, enough the tip touches the back of your throat and your cheeks hollow around his length.

And he’s still too fucking long. 

You start choking a little, tears touching your waterline. You stroke the part you can’t reach, and he can’t help but smirk arrogantly.

Heavy breaths turns into deep groans, trying to keep his sounds to himself but the way you look as your head bobs on his dick, practically choking as you suck on it, and his hand flexing a tight grip on your hair — this has got to be better than any fucking narcotic ever. He bets morphine won’t ever feel this good. “Y-you’re fucking sublime, baby,”

You retract your mouth, going back to suckle on the tip, before taking him all back down your throat. His hips jerk forward, you can tell just how gentle he’s trying to be even when he’s losing all control. 

And it’s too good, because twenty years of chastity has started to reach him faster than the way you rub him. He feels his abdomen tighten, and fuck does his balls feel tense. So as any illogical, preposterous, unsound idiot ever, he pulls you away from his cock. He holds you by your hair, slowing you down as you stare up at him, eyes wide and confused, lips wet from your saliva and his fluids.

“What the fuck?” you mutter, catching your breaths. 

Riki licks his bottom lip, and you can see every restraint holding him back from breaking you. The tips of his ears are red, and his eyes, once so tender and meticulous, looks down at you like he just can’t wait to fuck you senseless. They’re sharper than they ever have been, and once since this night began, you’re scared.

“Easy,” he drawls, hand withdrawing from you completely. He takes a step back, just enough to admire the way you look, panting and on your knees, breasts exposed and perky. Then with a small smirk, he pinches the edge of his hoodie. “You always this impatient?”

He slides the hoodie over his arms, the cloth revealing flesh that practically glow from your vanity lights. His chest and shoulder width is broad and wide, flat in that boyish way you love, expanding to the chiseled arms. You can feel yourself salivating at the muscles, at his taut abs, delicate grooves that trace down to a sharp v-line. Even his obliques and traps are so defined.

“Get on your back.” he rasps, and you don’t let yourself react before lying down, head against your soft pillows. He kneels in between your legs, eyes trailing over your body. He hooks his fingers over the elastic of your panties, just before he slowly pulls them off you, slow enough to make you embarrassed.

“Riki,” you murmur sheepishly, but he ignores you, keeping his eyes narrowed to the way your cunt glistens, your own fluids leaking out of you. She’s perfect, and his already frustrated cock twitches. 

Blonde hair sticks to his forehead, and his eyes are dark when your gaze meets again. He hovers over you, caging you against the bed before he leans in, kissing you again. Your lips part for him, breaths mingling, getting hot and heavy as his hand finds your ass. He squeezes the fat there, fingers digging into your skin. “You’re making it hard to think, pretty girl.”

You manage a giggle, though it quickly turns to soft moans when he kisses your jaw and presses his cock against your cunt. 

“Riki, please,” you can see how swollen his cock has gotten.

“I don’t know if I can be gentle,” he breathes, his arms tensing as he keeps himself up. He strokes himself a bit, just before he aligns the tip with your aching hole.

Your brain has gone hazy, not being able to process anything other than the way he kisses your neck when the head of his cock pushes through your folds, and immediately your arms come to his back, nails digging into his muscles. He tenses too, giving a sharp exhale when his length slides past the tight muscle and rubs against your gummy walls.

“Fuck,” he groans, burying his face against your neck while your teeth bite down your bottom lip. “G-god, that’s so good,” 

His hips closes against your pelvis, while his tip brushes against your cervix so good he’s pretty sure you’re sucking him in. And you feel stuffed, more than you ever have been, by Riki’s long cock. “Good fucking pussy, shit —”

Your legs are open wide for him, pressing flat against the mattress. And that’s enough for him, just to see you so spread beneath him, cunt squeezing him so tight; enough for him to pull back and watch the way your fluids wrap slick around his cock. Your hips wiggle for him, and that’s all he takes before slamming his hips back into you.

Riki’s jaw hangs open, a low moan gushing out him, strained and heavy into your ears. 

“R-Riki — f-f-fuck —”

The sounds of squelching pussy and skin slapping echoes throughout your entire room, walls so tight around his cock as you gasp. The pace is set already, quick and fucking drilling into you even though you’ve known him for his care and caution — yet he pounds into you like he doesn’t give a fuck about anything but his pleasure.

“S-s-so good — ugh, Riki — fuck,” you scratch his back muscles, tensing underneath your nails. His pelvis and abs are tight, slamming himself so hard against your cunt like he can’t keep himself apart from you.

He continues groaning, his eyebrows furrowed, eyes half-lidded watching you, completely fucked out while he admires the way your tits bounce every time he rocks his dick deep into your cunt. His lips part to moan your name, and you love how he almost whimpers when you squeeze around him. 

Then he stills, though only fast enough before he slides an arm beneath your waist and gathers you closer, like he’s scooping you into him without fully lifting you. 

“W-what are you —” 

“On your stomach.” 

You can only blink and nod, before turning around, suddenly feeling empty when his dick slips from inside you. You settle on your hands and knees, then lie on your chest, face pressed to the soft pillow. “Fuck, my good girl.”

You can’t see him anymore, and you’re not sure with how you feel about it — not until you feel his warm body press against your back, his chest hovering slightly over you. He presses a hand on the back of your thigh, gently adjusting your knee higher, the position immediately spreading your folds more than you would have thought. 

“Lift your hips for me, baby,” he breathes, voice low and strained.

You obey, pussy clenching around nothing when he whispers quiet praises as your ass perks up and your folds glisten for him again, slick oozing out from you. You get on your hands a little, just enough to lift yourself and look over your shoulder. Without much of a warning, he pushes his cock back deep inside you again, walls welcoming him with a dirty squelch, your breath catches, then escapes in a quiet gasp.

“There, just like that —” Riki moans, his v-line pressed tight against your ass.

Then he continues, retracting his hips only to slap back inside you. The new positions doing fucking wonders to you, stretching you a whole lot more, his dick fucking you so raw that you can’t help the screams you let out. He presses his hands against your waist, fingers ingrained to lift your ass up and pound into you right after, grip so tight it’s already bruising.

You fuck yourself against him too, slapping back against his hips, cock choking in your tight walls. His eyes are almost rolling back, if not for how obsessed he is watching your ass shake and tits bounce every sloppy stroke, his hand sliding under you to grope your mound. He fondles with it, pinching your nipple and loving the weight of it against his palm. 

Sweat’s getting hot and the air’s smells too much of sex, he can feel it when his balls clench and how desperate he’s starting to get.

You look over your shoulder and he meets you halfway, leaning over to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. It’s full of saliva and it’s warm, messy in a way that tells how close you both are.

Then with so little strength (can’t compare to Riki Nishimura, really), your weight falls back to the pillow, face and chest pressed against the softness while your ass stays up. If not for his large hands keeping you up and still, you would’ve fallen over completely. 

Your abdomen clenches and pressure builds in there, and he continues rutting into you while you become a puddle of sweat and moans. “R-right there — fuck, Riki — !”

“I-I’m gonna fucking cum, s-shit – I’ll blow a fucking load in you —” his hips drive into your pussy with a new kind of intensity, faster and deeper somehow, his tip hitting your cervix that has you throbbing around him.

“Cum all over me, baby, please —” he whines, face pressed against your shoulder. 

You feel hot spurts of him fill you the same time your cunt clenches around him one final time, legs twitching while his hips come to a stutter. Cum settles in your hole, warm and full and sticky and practically seeping out of you. He collapses on top of you, unconsciously maybe, his heavier weight pressing over your body.

Your vision goes white for a bit, then it comes back, only for you to see hair all over your face, stuck with sweat and saliva. He’s still on top of you, but you can feel him carry himself a little, making sure not to crush you right after cumming in you.

Quiet beats stretch out the moment, and you don’t even notice his arm tucking underneath you to massage your tit, a tired laugh leaving your mouth when you do. When you both muster enough strength, he straightens just enough to lift himself off of you, while you manage to get on your hands. By the time you look over your shoulder, he’s already leaning in, his mouth finding yours again, a hand still fondling with your breast.

“Riki,” a small sheepish smile curves on your lips, all while he presses soft pecks against your mouth and jaw. 

“Hm?” he hums, tired and spent, clearly having nothing else to do but to kiss you. His breaths are still shallow, eyelids heavy before shutting completely.

You giggle, putting your hand over his on your breast. “Get off me,” you say with a playful grin. “You’re so heavy!”

WIth a quiet groan, he listens. He slides out of you, unplugging you to let your fluids out. Then he lies down, and he hasn’t realized how strained his muscles are until he sinks into the softness of your bed. He relaxes inevitably, while you stay up just to admire him for a bit.

Riki Nishimura is never going to be insecure about his looks, but the way you stare at him with dilated pupils that match his, especially post-sex, he can’t help but grow a bit bashful. 

He huffs out a laugh, one hand reaching out to squeeze your waist because you feel so far. "So do you have a no-cuddle policy, or," he murmurs.

You laugh before you can stop yourself because he's so stupidly funny for someone trying to sound serious. Instead of answering, you shake your head and lean more of your weight against one hand, the other resting against his chest as your fingers trace lazy, thoughtless shapes.

He watches you do it for a second, his expression going quiet in that way that makes your stomach turn. Then you glance up at him. "Can you roll one for me?"

He sighs so heavily it almost sounds personal. Before you can even react, his arm hooks around your waist and pulls you down against his chest, firm and immediate, like the idea alone offended him. Your hand lands against his abs to catch yourself, your cheek nearly brushing his shoulder as he keeps you there.

“Throw that shit away,” he says, voice low near your ear. “I swear to God.”

You blink, caught against him. “What?” His arm stays around you, warm and unmoving. “Why?”

Riki looks at you with half-lidded eyes, sleepy and a little strained, like even answering takes effort. “Because,” he murmurs, his grip softening at your waist, “after tonight, I think I found something better.”

Your jaw actually falls open. For one second, all you can do is stare at him, because there’s no way Riki Nishimura just said that to you while looking half-asleep and impossibly calm, like he didn’t just say something that made your entire stomach turn over and tighten all over again.

Then you smack his chest lightly. “Riki.”

He chuckles, low and tired, the sound vibrating against your palm. His arm stays around your waist, keeping you close even when you try to lean back enough to glare at him properly.

“What?” he murmurs, eyes barely opening more. “Use my dick instead, I won’t get mad.”

You smack his chest harder, earning a yelp from him. “Riki!”

He laughs under his breath, but before you can pull your hand back, his fingers wrap around your wrist. His eyes open a little more as he looks at you, still tired, still amused, and then he tugs you. 

You land over him, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips as his arm settles around your waist to steady you. For a second, neither of you moves. Your hand stays pressed to his chest, his heartbeat is faster than he's pretending. "Careful," he murmurs, like he wasn't the one who pulled you.

"You're so annoying," you whisper again, but it comes out softer this time, a quiet breath as you lean down to him. You're close enough now that your noses brush, close enough to feel his smile fade against your mouth.

Riki's gaze drops to your lips, then back to your eyes. Your fingers stay flat against the broad hardness of his chest while his hand stays warm at your waist, slowly smoothing over the curve of your ass.

“Ride me?” he whispers against your lips.

You sigh, rolling your eyes while your mouth curves to a grin, back straightening. You act like you think about it, only for your exposed cunt to start grinding against his cock — which, obviously, because he is a very simple man, erects again.

A simple man such as he, all he knows is that he is yours.

tl: @wobblymug @s1mp4jaeyun @gyuguys @woninlove

[enhaxniniee]

NSFW- YOU RIDE NIKI SO HARD THAT HE CAN’T CONTROL HIS WHIMPERING

@yeoniel2005

[drkbl00d]

⧼ᴘᴜʀʀꜰᴇᴄᴛ⧽ ─── 西村 力

life with your sweet angel of a boyfriend, absolute purrfection.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: pumabf!riki x reader

smut, established relationship, domestic fluff, protective!ki, jealousy, cuddling, lots of kissing, oral (f.+ m. receiving), he purrs, sub!reader, bratty!reader, biting (he does it with love), little bit of blood mentioned, morning sex, swearing, teasing, not proofread lolz (3.9k words)

ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ promises he doesn't mean to but is insanely protective.

an arm around your should or waist, eyes ghosting around any room you step it looking for a threat. you would think you're entering a cage of fighting lions, but no — you're just entering a supermarket. the poor other costumers were treated like missiles about to explode by him. "ki, red or green?" no response. "ki?" "hm?" he mutters, eyes still roaming around. your hands find his face, snapping him out of his haze. the moment your eyes meet he softens, sharp eyes turning big, brows relaxing. "do you want red or green grapes?" you ask again. "oh, green please." he smiles softly, eyes crinkling. but as soon as you turn to grab the grapes he snaps back to scan the room for any potential threat.

ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ full on gnarls when you're being bratty heheheh

he tries to be as nice to you as he can while he's balls deep inside you. poor boy gets so lost inpleasure and turns absolutely wild. he wants his hands all over you at the same time, like his hands are never in the same position for more than ten seconds. the first time you slept together he was trembling with how much he had to hold himself back, pretty boy blanked out at the feeling of your pussy around him :(( but with time you wanted to see what he's hiding, there was a little bite or choke every now and then but you want this man WILD. "can't even fuck me properly, huh?" "come on, is this all you've got?" you are an absolute manace and after the initial shock riki experienced hearing those words coming from you, his heavy breaths and choked moans were replaced by grunts as he slammed his hips against you with one smooth motion. satisfied with the sqeaky moan it got out of you, he thought this was the end – a mere little slipup on your part. but no, this only fuelled you. "what," you giggled between small gasps, "too shy to put me through the matress?" oh this was your end. within the blink of an eye he had you flipped on your stomach, legs rough nudged apart before he buries himself inside of you again. you know that he's big, i mean look at the height of him his dick was bound to be more than average, but he has never been this deep in you. for a moment you believe you've lost hearing and your brain switched off. as if you weren't in heaven enough already, the feeling of him carelessly lying on top of you, cock drilling in and out of your puffy pussy, had you speechless. "oh now you wanna shut up, hm?" he gnarls into your ear, yanking your hair back. you mouth falls open, but no words come out of it; only whines and throaty moans. "wanna act like a fucking brat but cave at the feeling of me destroying your cunt huh?" messy kisses were placed on your exposed neck, sharp fangs grazing that one sensitive spot that has you pussy flutter. pathetic whines answer him and he chuckles, " 's what i thought baby, now come on and take it."

ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ is practically glued to you at all times.

yes, outside he's protective, rough boyfriend but once you're home? oh that boy turns to puddle around you. he's still stuck on you, but he basically clings to you like a koala. "babyyyy, can you pleaaaaase just come to the couch with me?" he whines as you fold your clothes. "ki, i told you that as soon as i'm down with this i'll be all yours." "but," he sighs, "it always takes you so long to do itttt." you'd think he hasn't seen you in days, meanwhile the only time you were separated today was when either of you went to the toilet; and even then he was outside the door yapping your ear off. your person space is his person space and he refuses to change that for a single moment of the day.

ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ is such a cuddle bug.

the minute you lie down, he's on you. i mean full on covering every part of you, face nuzzling into your neck as his arms circle your waist. a content sigh escapes him, this is his absolute favourite thing. your smell hits his nose instantly and he can't help but try and get closer to (it's literally impossible at this point). if possible, he would crawl into your skin to discover parts of you he has yet to see. "ki that giggles." you giggle, lovingly smacking his shoulder. "mmmm, you smell so good baby." his voice barely noticeable as how closely his lips are pressed against your skin. "you've smelled me a million times before silly boy. how can you not get bored?" in the blink of an eye he sat up. he looked purely distraught. "how can you say that?" he questioned, dead serious. "if i ever happen to lose you i need to be able to find you again! your smell is key here." you stare at him, utterly baffled. a moment of silence passes, both of you just staring at each other. "i mean," you start, "you have my location at all times and you're pretty much always with me." he scoffs, "well obviously, but there's still a small chance of you getting lost or taken from me." your heart swells at his confession. "awwww, come here baby." you open your arms wide and he happily plops back down on you again. content hums leave him again, accompanied by a deep sigh. softly, your fingers start threading through his hair, earning such lovely sounding purrs from him, vibrating against your chest. "i love you so much," he mumbles sleepily, the affect hair playing as him is insane. "i love you, ki." you whisper back as he drifts off to sleep. aren't you the luckiest to have this clingy cuddly giant.

ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ get jealous easily :((

he would never accuse you of straying away and being not loyal. ever. if someone's eyes linger on you more than three seconds he's ready to pounce. as we've established he always has a hand on you somewhere, so obviously you're off the market! he uses his height as an advantage, no matter how tall you are, he most likely will be taller that you. looking like you shack he sends daggers across the room, eyes narrowing with anger. however, as soon as you notice and spin around, putting a hand on his cheek he turns to mush. "what's gotten you so worked up baby?" you mutter, small smile on your face. "just this guy looking at you. it's insulting to both you and me." he murmurs, but you can tell by his voice that all his attention is on you now, guy long forgotten at your display of attention. you turn, "who is it?" "red shirt." you scoff, "slimey looking thing." at that he chuckles, lips pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head. "i love you, angel." you reach down, intertwining your fingers with his, "don't worry ki," you smile up at him "i'll forever and always be yours."

ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ leaves innocent kisses anywhere but your lips when you're out and it's the sweetest thing.

considering how much he loves on you, you had some ground rules established. his jealous and protective nature has him on you at all times, not just his hands roaming but also his lips. if provoked, he started a full on make out in the middle of the street. anything to put those hitting or even look at you too long in their place. here comes in one the rules: no public makeouts! a little kiss, a quick peck is fine, it's welcomed. but no full on making out, no tongues intertwining. but of course the little menace finds a way to go around this rule. it started on your hand, just a kick peck to the back of your intertwined hands. next it was you cheek, then your forehead, the top of your head, your temple. if he's feeling extra cheeky he starts kissing the corner of your mouth relentlessly. he's so fucking smug about it too! "whaaaaat, i haven't done anything against the rules!" he's so fucking cute :(( he just wants to love you at all times.

ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ has a very sensitive nose and tends to bury it inside your neck when he gets overwhelmed

as we've established, riki adores your smell. nothing brings him nearly as much comfort as the smell of your skin. he specifically asks you not to put on any perfume or scented lotions. life gets busy and at some point everyone gets overwhelmed with it all. busy schedules, little sleep, it's all been catching up him and on a random day after running errands with you he finally gets to lay on the couch with you. yet his mind is not any busy, thoughts circling on his mind in a never-ending loop. you were focused on the show playing in the back when he suddenly nuzzles his head into your neck. at first you thought he was simply being cuddly, but he was more stiff than usual. he didn't melt into you as he usually does. "what's up, pretty boy?" you mumble as you stroke his hair. he only manages a weak hum in response. "riki are you okay?" his heart clenches at the sound of your voice. filled with so much worry, he instantly feels guilty. "no it's alright," he mutters as he sits back up again. "no, no, something's up. talk to me." taking a deep breath in as he struggles to meet your eyes. "ki," you say softly, hand reaching over to softly stroke his arm. "you can always talk to me. about anything." oh he's so in love with you, he just wants to kiss you senseless. "i know," he breathes. "i just...i don't know. life is just a lot and i cannot seem to switch my brain off." you coo, "come here my big baby." within seconds he's snuggled up against you, face in your neck again. "you smell like home." just like that; he dropped a sentence like that out of the blue. at a loss for words you can only pepper kisses all over his cheeks and forehead, clutching him extra tight.

ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ purrs into your pussy while he's eating you out <33

while we're on the topic of smells, this boy goes CRAZY for the smell of your pussy. first time he went down on you he came all over the sheets by just smelling you it's that serious. my boy definitely has an oral fixation, he could spend hours between your legs — and he does. from slow licks, to sloppily making out with your cunt he absolutely worships you. every time he finds himself face to face with your pussy he tries to find new ways to make you lose your mind. he's an absolute MASTER at the tongue and finger combo, scissoring his fingers inside your gummy walls as he sucks and nips at your clit. this genuinely is his favourite thing to pass the time, so it is not wonder that he eventually starts contently purring. the first time it happened you were so surprised at the extra stimulation you came instantly and boy was he proud. the low vibrations add a delicious sensation on top of his already skilled hands and tongue. he sometimes starts and stops, loving the desperate whines that leave your pretty lips, begin him to continue purring. riki gets cocky with it, but every time he goes down on you he gets to the point of his eyes firmly squeezed shut, unconsciously purring at the feeling and smell of you that consume all his senses <333

ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ leaves bites all over you while being inside of you to muffle his moans (he's still a little embarrassed <33)

big dick rik is a recurring guest on my blog, mans knows exactly what to do to get all obsessed and cock drunk I DONT MAKE THE RULES (i do but whatever). puma!ki however adds the beautiful dimension of biting <33 it started with a little nip here and there to get a reaction out of you, but the freakier the two of you got over time, the more he gets lots in pleasure and can't hold himself back. he knows you'd never judge him, in fact you encourage it, but he does feel a little embarrassed being a moaning mess when your pussy feels too good :(( so nipping turns into his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he has you on all fours, desperately trying to quieten his moans. the warm feeling of your insides has him believing he's in heaven, hips rutting into all messily...and when you moan at the feeling of his canines sinking into you?? yea the moans only get cranked up even more. the first time he drew blood he was so shocked by himself, staring at you all wide eyed :c but when you simply flip your hair over the little wound, exposing the other side of your neck and pushing his head down to meet your soft skin he's back in business.

but it doesn't even have to be the two of you hardcore going at it, it can be lovingly spooning on an early morning and he's just all sleepy still, eyes closed, relishing the feeling of being inside you first thing in the morning. the world still asleep, he buries his head in the crook of your neck (can you tell this boy has a favourite body part on you?), biting down near the pulsing vein. your little gasps and whines music to his ears, he bites down a little harder, hoping that when you leave the house later everyone can still see :(

ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ is a very whiny boy when you go down on him :,)

do not let the propaganda fool you, this boy is so fucking vocal!!! while he does take quite a lot of the initiative when you go down on him, he lets out the prettiest sound a man has ever made. he's very big on praise, you're his precious girl and he's so thankful that you choose to pleasure him :(( "so fucking pretty huh, fuck look at you," he moans as you lick up and down his length, eyes always on him. he gets so lost in the pleasure that he has to rapidly blink, not wanting to miss a single little thing you do. if you decide to be a little tease (which you usually are) and kitty lick only his tip, refusing to touch the rest of him he falls i love with you even more. while he does have his hands entangled in your hair, he'd never force himself deeper inside of you. you do things at your own pace and he's happy to be there! so when you suddenly stop the small licks and fully take him down your throat in one motion he can't help but gasp, throaty moan following. "filthy fucking thing aren't you? jesus you're perfect." riki looks majestic like this, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut and chest heaving. if you moan around him it's most definitely over for him. what his purring is doing to you, your moans do it to him. that's when the whines most definitely come out and you of course love taking advantage of it. it's obscene, you bobbing your head up and down his cock, a mix of spit and precum dripping out of your mouth all over his thighs as you moan nonstop. his legs twitch at the sensation of your mouth, abs flexing every time you have his entire length down your throat. and when he gets close? best believe it's the whine olympics. the grasp on your hair tightens, sending small tingles through your scalp and down your spine. " 'm so close angel, fuck please don't stop oh my god." and with that he releases the prettiest whiny moan as he empties out his load into your mouth.

ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ does the cutest little head tilt at random times, blinking at you (no thoughts behind those eyes)

pretty boy spaces out every now and then, no thoughts head empty. so when you come into the room, yapping the day away he needs a second to snap out of it and when you look at him expectantly he just goes "huh?". he's so fucking cute, head cocked to the side, brows slightly furrowed in confusion. "did you hear a single thing i just said?". a snail could shake its head quicker than he did, softly blinking at you. how could yoh stay mad at him when he's looking at you like this??? "aww," you coo. "pretty boy was lost in thought weren't you." his nose crunches in fake disapproval, but deep down both of you know he loves being babied.

or sometimes he gives you the most RANDOM look of disapproval it's truly hilarious, he cannot keep a straight face at times it's so fucking endearing. "what did i do?" you ask baffled, hands thrown up in defence. the menace he can be at times he just shoots you another side eye before pulling you closer. but don't think you'll get an answer, his mind works in mysterious ways....

ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ can only purr when he gets too sleepy :((

the thought of this genuinely has me tweaking out. you know when you get too tired and words turn into hums? this is him, but with purring. his head is on your chest, arms loosely around your ways, legs tangled with yours. you were just telling him about your day, nothing out of the ordinary and you knew he was tired, but this sweetheart insists on hearing all about your day. "– so i was just standing there, can you believe it?...ki?" soft vibrations make your upper body tingle. "you wanna go sleep, sweet boy?" you whisper softly but he gives you a more firm, disapproving purr. "alright alright, i'll continue." another, more soft and content purr from him. as always, your hands brush through his hair, earning a constant wave of purrs, which you notice to become more and more slower by the minute. you stop your sentence mid way, continuing to play with his blonde strands of hair. ever so softly, he gives your waist a squeeze, just to let you know a tiny part of him is still awake, an attempt to show you he's listening (or at least trying to). "i'll tell you the rest over breakfast tomorrow." you murmur, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. "i love you, ki." he might be too tired for words, but that doesn't stop him from purring the sound waves of an i love you back :c

ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ is a teasing little shit and loves to bite down on your lips.

doesn't even have to be when you're kissing NO mfer just chomps down on your lips when he feels like it! it's another thing he does when he's feeling jealous over protective. you could be out in public, just chilling at a cafe when he moves over and bites down on your bottom lip. no explanation, nothing, just a smug smile on his face as he leans back again. "what was that for you?" you look at him, puzzled. "barista drew a heart on your cup and has been looking over here." he replies with a shrug. "riki she was probably just being nice. and she could be looking at you and not me." he firmly shakes his head. "nope, she was looking at you at all times, plus there's no heart on my cup see?" he counters, shoving his cup in your face. you can't help but smile at his theatrics, leaning over the desk to give him a quick peck on the lips, one that he tries to chase with a little whine. "nu-uh," you warn. "none of that in public mister." one would think he was just denied entry to heaven with the way he started sulking.

if you ever decide to do it back, it turns into a little competition. you've heard of tickle fights, now get ready for biting fights. you would be hiding behind a corner, jumping out when he passes but you just to bite down on his plush lips. this would obviously lead into a chase through your entire flat, with him catching you 99% of the time and throwing you down on the couch. his lips are all over you then, kissing, nipping and occasionally biting down. riki loves the way you giggle and squirm at the impact, big hands trying to hold you down but never too tightly, this is far too much fun.

ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ randomly starts purring songs (yes purring not humming)

it had been a peaceful afternoon, just the two of you lounging around, soft kisses exchanged while lying intertwined on the couch. you were making dinner, dancing around the stove to the record playing in the back. riki hovered around you, giving you the occasional spin to see the pretty smile form in your face. stirring the pot, he stood behind you, hands obviously around your waist, chin on your head, swaying you from side to side to the music. you softly started humming along to the song when you were joined by some deeper melodies, the vibration of his purring tickling the top of your head. "what's got you all giggly?" he questions, oblivious to what he had just been doing. "your purrs were tickling me." "huh?" poor boy had no idea he started doing it, blushing slightly at his unconscious trait. another giggle escapes you, "don't worry, i don't mind it. it's like we're singing a duet in our own way!" the pure beam that was your smile made him believe his heart just stopped for a second and he could only squeeze you tighter, propping his chin back on top of your head.

ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ is a big fan of the "just five more minutes" phrase because he knows you can't resist him.

it's not news that riki is very much into physical contact, this boy is the definition of velcro. separating from you in the morning is pure heartbreak for him, he's counting down the minutes until he can see you again :( so when your alarm rings in the morning, he's all grumpy whines, refusing to ease the iron grip he has on you. "ki, i have to get ready." you mumble, voice still heavy with sleep. "noooo." he mumbles back, rolling over so that he's on top of you. " 'm not letting you go, you're all mine." it's endearing, this huge man being all clingy. "of course i am," you answer. "but i still have to get ready for work baby." protesting purrs vibrate against your collarbones as he softly nips the skin. "ten more minutes." "five." "deal." his body instantly relaxes, acting like a weighted blanket. "we always do this in the mornings, why are do you argue with me?" he murmurs into your chest and you sigh. "i have no clue if i'm being honest." at that he chuckles, "you love me soooooo bad don't you?" without missing a beat you reply, "always." you could risk being late for work a few minutes, saying no to him was just not in the cards :,)

ʟɪɴ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: this has been collecting dust in my drafts for ages........it's lowkey ass and i'm repeating myself but 😞😞

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @saeivra @shawnyle @kookiesnkim @itsnotawrongnumber @shaiimuraaa @yelihusband @chaebbys @feedrinplz @twerkispeak @noirellee @wonscapes @tamedhoon (comment or send me an ask if you want to be tagged or removed <33)

ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴅʀᴋʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ

[hoonalt]

6:14 - . ۫ ꣑ৎ . ˖ nrk‎ꫂ᭪݁ . ۫

Just loser ki making love with his pretty hot gf!

敗者!西村力×y/n˖ ࣪ . 🦢 ࿐ ♡ ˚ .

Content+Warnings: smut, pwop,soft dom , he rambles about anime & physics when he’s nervous or turned on, pure filth,kinda cute ki.

MNDI.

Note: likes+reblogs r appreciated,first time posting here lwk nervous˖ ࣪ . ࿐ ⊹ ࣪ ˖‎ꫂ᭪݁

The scene no one at uni gets.

how did the quiet, lanky, glasses-wearing game-dev major with the messy black hair and perpetual hoodie pull you? he still doesn’t believe it half the time. but when the door closes, the shy boy disappears and the one who knows exactly how to ruin you takes over. he just can’t stop talking through it.

You never planned on falling this hard for someone like Ni-ki.

He was the guy who sat three rows behind you in Advanced Calculus, always doodling mech designs in the margins of his notes, earphones in, hood up even indoors. The kind of boy people called “cute in a pathetic way” when they thought he couldn’t hear. You were the one everyone noticed — confident, sharp tongue, the kind of pretty that made people stare a second too long.

Yet here you were, three months into whatever this was, heart doing stupid flips every time he pushed his glasses up and gave you that small, crooked smile like he still couldn’t believe you were real.

Tonight started innocently enough.

You’d dragged him back to your dorm after he spent the entire study session quietly losing his mind because you kept brushing your leg against his under the library table (accidentally¿)but he wasn't having any of that. The second the door clicked shut he was on you — not rough, never rough with you — but desperate. Hands trembling as they slid under your shirt, mouth clumsy and hot against your neck fondling and squeezing the squishy fat of ur breasts through the thin materialof your top.

“Fuck… I thought about this all day,” he mumbled, voice already hoarse trailing hot kisses from neck to ur shoulders.“You in that skirt… sitting there like you weren’t trying to kill me.”

You laughed softly, tugging his hoodie off. “You’re such a loser, Riki.”

“Yeah,” he breathed, pushing you gently onto the bed, “but I’m your loser.”

Clothes came off in a messy trail. His long fingers — the same ones that could code for eight hours straight without breaking — traced every inch of you like he was memorizing a new map. When he finally pushed inside you, slow and deep, both of you let out shaky sounds that didn’t even sound human.

He bottomed out and stilled, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.

“God… you feel— you always feel so fucking perfect,” he whispered. His voice cracked a little. “Like… like you were made exactly for me. I don’t deserve this. I don’t —”

“Riki,” you cut him off gently, cupping his face. His glasses were slightly fogged. “Shut up and move.”

He let out a broken laugh, moving painfully slow.The first few thrusts were careful, almost reverent. Then something shifted. His hips snapped harder, the shy nerd melting away as he found that spot that made your back arch clean off the bed.

“You’re so tight… every time, fuck” he groaned, voice dropping lower. “It’s like you’re trying to keep me inside forever. Physics doesn’t even explain this— how you can feel this good. I swear I could stay here for hours.”

You moaned his name, nails digging into his shoulders. He was big — unfairly so for someone who looked like he’d never seen a gym — and he knew exactly how to use every inch once he stopped overthinking.

He hooked one of your legs higher, angling deeper, and suddenly the rambling started for real.

“Remember that scene in Neon Genesis where— fuck— where Shinji finally stops running? That’s how I feel when I’m inside you. Like everything else disappears and it’s just… this. Just us.” His thrusts grew messier, more urgent. “I love you. I love you so much it scares me sometimes. Like what if you wake up one day and realize you could do so much better than some dork who builds Gundam models at 3 a.m.?”

Tears pricked your eyes — not from the overwhelming pleasure (though that was definitely part of it), but from the raw honesty in his voice. He always got like this when he was close: vulnerable and filthy at the same time.

“Riki… baby, stop saying nonsense and look at me.”

He did, dark eyes glassy behind his crooked glasses, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat.

“I chose you,” you gasped between moans. “I want you. The nerd who explains orbital mechanics during foreplay. The one who blushes when I call him pretty boy . All of you.”

That seemed to snap something in him.

His pace turned punishing in the best way, one hand sliding between your bodies to rub tight circles over your clit while he drove into you. The wet sounds filled the small room, mixed with his low, broken whimpers and your desperate cries.

“You’re gonna cum for me, right?” he panted, voice wrecked. “Please— I need to feel it. Need to feel you squeezing me while I’m still inside you. I want to fill you up so deep you’ll still feel me tomorrow when you’re sitting in lecture pretending you’re not thinking about this.”

You came hard, vision whiting out, thighs shaking around his waist. He followed right after with a choked moan of your name, hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside you, hot and endless.

But he didn’t pull out.

Instead he collapsed carefully on top of you, still buried to the hilt, arms wrapping around your waist like you might disappear if he let go. His face pressed into the crook of your neck, breathing ragged.

You could feel him twitching inside you, oversensitive and spent, yet he stayed there, cockwarming you through the aftershocks.

“Stay like this… just a little longer,” he whispered, voice small again. “I like feeling close. Like I’m still part of you.”

You ran your fingers through his damp hair, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby.”

He let out a quiet, shy laugh against your skin, then mumbled, “You know… if we calculate the average time it takes for my heart rate to return to normal after you wreck me like that, it’s statistically impossible because it never really does. Not when it’s you.”

You smiled, heart so full it almost hurt.

“Shut up, Riki.”

“Make me.”

So you kissed him again — slow, deep, full of everything neither of you could quite say out loud yet.

And in the quiet glow of your desk lamp, with his long body draped over yours and his heartbeat steady against your chest, the rest of the world and all its confusion about how you two fit together faded away.

He was yours.

Loser glasses, rambling mouth, and all.

©hoonalt

[dollhoonki]

𖤓 ── PUSH THE PIPE ⋆ NISHIMURA RIKI。

⋮ ⌗ ┆概要 ⨾ a weed brownie changes everything for riki, where in the back garden of jake's latest house party, he meets you ─ his latest obsession.

西村力 𝔁 𝒻 .ᐟ读者 ── 8.1k    explicit content ⋆ smut (mdni)、dom!riki、sub!reader、heavy mentions of and scenes of recreational drug use (weed)、college/university au、morally grey(ish) characters、misogynistic themes and language (the portrayal of any characters here does not reflect their real life character)、cigarette smoking、oral (m. & f. rec)、oral fixation、vaginal fingering、unprotected sex (don't do this)、creampie、breeding kink、come swallowing (m. & f.)、(slight) degradation & humiliation、dacryphilia、multiple orgasms、 hung!ki、bulge kink、overstimulation (f.rec)、spit kink、missionary & mating press position、petnames used: angel、baby、good girl、pretty thing、princess.   guest appearances by: enhypen、haechan (nct)、beomgyu & taehyun (txt). ⌇ℳ.list

⋮ ⌗ ┆便条 ⨾ hi 😁 so im back close to 24 hours since my last post. the high of writing again and sharing it called me to cast aside my obligations and i wrote this - genuinely in a matter of hours. i don't know HOW i did that and continue to surprise myself, but i already had some vague idea of stoner!riki being a #munch, so thanks to an ask i got sent, their ideas very much added the context to what happens in this fic. i haven't proofread this in the slightest, so i'll come back and edit but i wanted to share this now because im too excited not to 😭 thank you so much, hope you enjoy and much loveeeee! <333

Riki didn't care much for parties. 

Despite how feral he'd get over tequila in his first years of uni, perhaps his taste had matured since then. Graduated to the expensive whiskey his father rewarded to him for the last year of uni he embarks on, shifting from the daze of break-dancing in someone's living room to sitting on plastic white chairs in his backyard, passing a blunt between his fingers. He'd dabbled in mostly everything, seeing university as the lawless grounds nothing felt real in, which explains why in the summer before he leaves home, he buys his first g. The pick-up point is in the abandoned park he loved as a child, in the barely-on, flickering lights of a tunnel he had no business loitering in, kicking his feet and rubbing his nose like the newbie he made himself out to be. The dealer - a friend of a friend - a uni dropout with the voice of Darth Vader, gives him a nod before they exchange weed for cash, so casual in nature despite the thrum in his neck. 

Only when he's scattered away, stuffing the bag so far into his hoodie pocket, it'd bury into the material, can he exhale. Except when he gets to his friend's house, free of rigid parents for the weekend, does he realise he doesn't know the first thing about smoking weed. He assumes it's like smoking a cigarette, which he'd regretfully done at a house party once and threw up rosé on some poor girl's shoes thereafter. He didn't inhale right, hacked every time he tried burying the puff of smoke in his lungs, then while his high school friends starfished on the living room carpet, giggling to themselves, Riki sits on the couch, his cheek pressed into knees brought to his chest as he watches Courage the Cowardly Dog, wondering if uni will be any better. 

It is ─ he finds his crowd, people with a knack for empathy and knowledge despite the stupid shit they get up to, but something in Riki relaxes. Lets him come into himself and ride the wave of new and exiciting experiences, trying this and that. Cocaine's too expensive, pills swing his jaw and ket makes him boneless on an overcrowded dancefloor. They come and go, but weed stays. Gives him the kind of highs where he finds amusement in the smallest things or finally quiets his mind, constant drones of the future drowned out by the shapes and colours of his lava lamp. In the midst of all the oragnised chaos, Riki somehow finds himself with sufficient grades, earning his best score yet on a paper written unreasonably high, laughing in disbelief all the way back home. Coming through the doorway, he spies his housemate Jake, the high mark the first thing he relays, to which Jake grins like some proud father, corners of his lips to his ears before he gives Riki a hug. 

"That's my guy," his palm smacks onto Riki's back, hand braced on his shoulder as Jake pulls away, a knowing grin on his face. "I say we celebrate."

"Over some coursework?" Riki's eyebrow quirks. "That's uhm, sweet but no need, broski."

"Bro, I'm making brownies. The good kind," Jake nods over his shoulder, the chocolate aroma hitting Riki suddenly, wafting with the undercurrent of the unwind of his tension-packed shoulders. "Hee's finally submitted that CompSci thing that's made him a ghost and Sunghoon's got a game he's gonna win. We're celebrating." 

Riki lets the idea carry his smile, stretching further as he deserts his leather bag on the couch and walks into the kitchen with Jake, timbs echoing against vinyl as they check on the progress of Jake's creation. Riki's fairly acquainted with the various ways of ingesting weed, his Chrome Hearts themed bong bought off Etsy one of his prised possession, but brownies are still his favourite. Quick and easy, his second year dealer an aspiring chef with a knack for desserts, from space cake to the likes of tiramisu. The latter his favourite, sweet enough for him to stand and strong enough for him to laugh controllably watching Fantastic Mr. Fox, collapsing over Sunghoon's lap in breathless laughs echoed in the back of his throat. 

Needless to say, "What the cuss?" became a go-to phrase between the two, unavoidable in first two weeks of its life, and forever a running joke between the two.

Shuffling out his bedroom door later on, the front door adjacent to it flings open, heavy clattering following as Sunghoon's figure ambles through. He topples over the mess of shoes stationed at the door all needing a wash, hands splayed against the narrow hallway walls to stead himself.

Riki raises an eyebrow.

"You good?" His head lowers, mirroring Sunghoon's ducked one as he struggles tugging off his sneakers, a dramatic sigh emptying out him as they fling off, his flushed face in full view. "You drank already?"

"The guys insisted on a pint after we pummelled Yonsei 7-0 ─ an embarrassing shutout," Sunghoon runs his hands through his sweaty hair, face settling into a lax Riki's happy to see. "But you know, it's never just one and now I'm halfway smashed and I still need to fucking shower,"

He starts departing, socks hitting carpet, clapping a hand over Riki's shoulder with a heavy squeeze as he yells ascending the stairs. "If you hear me fall over, just ignore it. Later!"

Riki can only smile, shaking his head before he styles his caramel blond strands into something more spiky, finally having time to put effort into his appearance after coursework that literally stole the swag from him. In the mirror, he's the painting of a 2000s punk love interest, only ever existing in a mall food court or Hot Topic, going as far as painting his nails chrome. And soon enough when the lights dim, living room illuminated by disco LED lights and packed with conversating bodies, Riki's dodging drunken spills, reaching into the back of the fridge for Jake's brownies to bring out back, pebbles rubbing together under his shoes as he plots down in the circle of his housemates and a few other friends, a welcome slow in mellow conversation. 

"I'm pretty sure I'm part whatever they put in Monster because besides that and microwave Mac & Cheese, that's all I survived off," smoke blows out Heeseung's lips, some cheap cigarette from the corner shop between his fingers as his body slumps into the plastic chair. His free hand pulls his black beanie downwards, his fringe peeking out. "You know how down bad I am if I'm a nitty again."

He takes another drag, head tilted to the sky, moonlight bathing the slopes of his face in shadows and brilliance. Riki watches on quietly. 

"Well, it's done now. So, do yourself a favour and buy better cigs," Jake chuckles, eyes moving opposite him to Riki. "You brought them out?"

"Yeah, I'm not looking to drink twelve pints tonight," he unwraps the cling wrap over the brownies, rings clinking together as he offers the stacked amount around. "Plus, they're fresh. And hopefully better than the last batch."

Beomgyu, one of Heeseung's friends breaks out into a chuckle, laughing along with his friend who says, "Those were an attempt."

"Hey! It's harder than it looks, okay?" Jake insists, biting into his brownie. "The fuck would youse know about using an oven, much less baking."

"Well, if your aim was to give us diabetes, you were halfway there," Riki laughs, gulping before he takes a bite. Dense but still somehow airy, not too sweet - good on Jake. "I'll give you a pass this time."

"Thanks Riki, because I really only live for your validation," Jake's eyes roll, amusement on his face before he nods over to Haechan. "What you think?"

"Like I won't need a glucometer," he giggles, mouth circled in crumbs. "It's really science if you think about it. I'm glad you learned the error of your ways."

"Fat fucking chance if you think you're taking any home," the two stick their tongues out at each other, to the sound of Beomgyu moaning, "Just kiss already, I'm close." Jake's laugh only lasts moments before his phone buzzes in his pocket, screen illuminating his face. "Oh shit, she's here."

"Who's here?" Riki asks, another bite into his brownie.

"Wonder if she's run into Sunghoon. Lord knows that man is a mess," Jake supplies, neck straining to peek at the backdoor.

"Yeah, I haven't seen that man so fucked since St. Pattys - and that was last week," Haechan adds. "Think he'll make a move?"

"He'll try but she won't have it. He's probably got beer and sick down his shirt anyways," Jake replies, lighting up at the opening door. He waves his raised hand, more enthused than Haechan's. "Took you long enough."

"Sorry, but Sunghoon insisted to talking to me with his sicky breath," a feminine voice echoes from the narrow alley leading towards them, your figure emerging from the shadows. "I had to get him to brush his teeth. He gagged brushing his tongue ─ pussy."

Cheeks full of chocolate brownie, Riki feels all his weight sink to his feet, body running arctic cold then densely warm at the sight of you. You're so pretty it hurts, sweet in the face with a confidence keeping your shoulders back and head high, the smirk across your face alone very much capable of making him pop a boner. In the silent howls of the night, so much air surrounds them yet makes no effort to slither past his shut mouth, his body a burning furnace as he watches your every move.

"Oh, is that a brownie? Fuck yeah," you lean down into Jake's hand, teeth sinking into the dessert with a nonchalance so alarming Riki only can blink once per minute, a heavy gulp moving down his throat. "Hm, that is good. That dealer hasn't left for France yet?"

"Nah, it's my own humble creation," Jake's hand splays over his chest, nodding proudly. "Happy you like it. Kiss for my troubles?"

"My God, this whole house is full of horn dogs," you drag the last plastic chair closest to Riki, ripped leather trousers crying against the material as you settle, sipping on your drink. "Don't tell me you're one of them."

The sentence is directed at Riki, who's still baffled how he's gone three and a quarter years not having seen you once. Not at any party, not at any club, not even on campus. Perhaps it's for the best because if he knew you existed, his focus would boil down solely to you as it does now. Trailing the stacked silver hoops and chains lining your ears, the dermals under your right eye haloed by dark, unworried makeup, the snake bites settled beneath the plump of your lips with sharp nails and leather clothing plucked from his wildest dreams. Slouched back and manspread, he gets full view of the belly piercing beneath your black vest, a skeleton hanging at the bottom.

It's then he thinks he might explode. 

"Riki, you good?" Heeseung asks, blowing smoke with a knowing smirk. Riki can only groan. "Brownies already hitting?"

"Something like that," he only spares his friend a glance, eyes fighting for more time with you, a polite smile on your lips. He hates how quick he is to imagine your lips elsewhere. "We haven't met before."

"We haven't," you confirm. "I had the displeasure of being in a group with Jake for some workshop a bit ago. I'm only in it for the baked goods."

"Sounds like something totally unrelated." Beomgyu chimes in.

"He wishes," your nose scrunches, laugh contagious in the coy smiles dispensed around the group. "Good to meet you, Riki. Your fits live up to the hype."

Riki points to himself, incapable of social interaction. "My fits?"

"Hair's a bit questionable. Bro looks like he got electrocuted." Heeseung jokes, just to wind him up.

"Coming from a man smoking cheapo cigs, I'd pipe down," you retort, a low blow that has the guys snickering behind enveloped mouths and veined hands.. "It's cool spiked up. A bit out of place ─ hang on,"

A small, "Can I?" escapes your lips, dialled low enough to confuse his brain into a moment of intimacy, his answer immediate nod as he nods. Then, his eyes trail, following your hand that has the lightest touch, carefully arranging his hair back into place, concentration pulled into satisfaction as you admire your work. "Now this is a look."

His blush floods all the way to his ears, not missed by Heeseung who only shakes his head with a chuckle, sending dancing eyebrows and bitten back smirks his way. Riki chooses to ignore it over the gentle thump of music from inside the house. It’s so starkly dissimilar to the calmness of the back garden, nothing but conversation and Jake's chill RnB playlist humming through his phone's speakers. Riki learns all sorts about you that night, lulled by your velvety voice and weed making him float on a cloud. However, what becomes blaringly obvious is no matter what anecdotes he learns over the short time you spend outside, it will never suffice.

Not until you're his to have.

Whatever Riki's dissertation his Sports Science degree is based on takes a backseat, all of his thoughts circling back to you. He experiences the phenomenon of life at university, where you see a person once and never see them again or see them everywhere ─ you are the latter. Blooming in places once unimportant to him, now noted down by the grace of your presence. He sees you in the university mail room collecting your guitar pick parcel, sees you on the grassy lawn near the library catching the sun's rays while he's sentenced to lecture catch-ups in the library, cat eye sunglasses perched on your septum-pierced nose, laughing as a kicked football bounces off your sunbathing friend's ass. He sees you in said library nodding your head to the Drum & Bass leaking through your headphones, blitzing through work with coffin nails pattering against your keyboard. He even catches you outside the Design School building, giggling as you swap a blunt between friends in a nearby bike shed, not the least bit worried of getting caught. 

Having access to you like this makes his mind wonder, go places fuelled by fantasy and desire, and it hotwires his system to you. In your mystery black but bright smile, the silver of your jewellery and the warmth of your heart. How in all the moments he thinks he's alone in seeing you, your head turns. Most times, you motion him over for polite chatter or simply smile, acknowledging him in the smallest interaction he'll spend all day thinking of. His brain doesn't allow him to forget you, finding every excuse to bring you up in conversation, try your favourite foods, listen to your favourite artists (which has a lot of crossover with his) and just…well, simp over you as Heeseung so lovingly puts it. 

Riki can protest all he wants, but he knows it to be true. How much he's fallen for how you move through the world like its yours, carving every bit of yourself in spaces he'll never forget, whispering your name in suppressed whimpers as he doesn't let his thoughts venture too far, just the image of you laughing at some poor joke he made or the compliments you so freely give him. 

And then he's coming. All over his hand, sticky with relief and shame. He can only sigh then, because even if he hates himself for how low his obsession has taken him, he can't bring himself to banish all thought of you.

You're hard to forget after all. 

"Is she coming?" Riki asks, always referring to you as he follows Jake down the stairs. The older of the two scampes through to the living room where Sunghoon's left some hockey game playing and ventures back into his room, lived in-neat with the scent of sea salt living in his space.

"Man, I don't know. It's like you have a crush on her or something," Jake says absently, sifting through his closet for something to wear. Except when he only hears the scrape of his clothes hangers and not Riki's immediate denial, he stops. Looks his friend in the eye, peeking through chestnut curls to display his surprise. "What the fuck? You're joking."

Riki could deny it. Save himself the additional teasing, but he's always been a shit liar. 

"She's cool." He ends up admitting, looking down at his suede sneakers. They need a clean. 

"Yeah, I bet she is since you beat your meat to her," Jake laughs, pulling out an outfit he's satisfied with - jeans and a brown plaid zip-up jacket. "I get it, but you're not the only one. Jay from Psych acts like she's cast a love spell on him, and Sunoo follows her around constantly. And you know Sunghoon wants her, so…"

Riki groans, fed up with the situation. "Come on, he has options." 

"And you don't?"

He considers it. Thinks about that girl in his Advanced Sports Biomechanics lecture he's been pining over since they last kissed first year, but quickly got a boyfriend before he had the balls to ask her out. Thinks about the other girl from the library months ago who he suspects likes girls and somehow, he finds peace in it all. Letting go of a past he no longer identifies with, and finds you. Nestled into crevices of his life that matter more than before.

He's an absolute goner. 

"She's special," Riki lets it be known, his nape a source of comfort as his nails scrape away. "I only want her."

"Aren't you a romantic," Back turned to him, Jake circles back with a baseball cap with a design of unbuttoned jeans. He's stolen that out of Riki's closet, reminding him to lock his door when he leaves for lectures. "Maybe talk to Hoon about it. So we can avoid another shared-girl situation,"

"Unless you're into being a cuck or whatever."

"You signed up for that."

"Different strokes for different folks, I don't know what you're into," Jake can only shrug, bottom lip jutted out. "Don't think I want to know either. Just talk to the guy so there's no drama." 

And because Riki's preferences don't line up with Jake's, he makes the trek upstairs to the attic room, hearing Heeseung yell from his corner-tucked room, probably playing League of Legends.

And he calls Riki a loser.

Riki knocks, Sunghoon yelling for him to come in. 

Up the trifle of stairs, he spirals up into Sunghoon's room, fitting for the so-called 'slut' of their house, the most spacious of all four bedrooms, decently clean with hockey memorabilia scattered all around. He's at his desk to the stairs' right, thick-rimmed glasses on his nose bridge as he actually works on his dissertation, slumping back at Riki's presence.

"Need something?" 

He avoids his gaze, fingers threading through the hairs down his nape. He'd cut it if it wasn't for your lone mention of preferring longer hair.

That night he'd dreamed of you pulling on his strands, head between your legs, coming undone by nothing but his mouth. 

"Yeah, I wanted to run something by you," he sits on the edge of Sunghoon's navy blue bed, legs not having much strength to stand. He chooses to ignore the mystery white stain centimetres away on Sunghoon's duvet cover. 

"Shoot."

"Well, you know," he then mentions your name, shoving back down the spike in nerves at Sunghoon's small but undeniable grin. "You uhm, like her or something?"

"The fuck's with all the awkwardness?" Sunghoon laughs, nose scrunched before he lets out a sigh, fingers carding his hair back. "Yeah, she's cool."

Same words Riki said. He's screwed.

"How much do you like her?" Riki asks, fingers playing with the frayed fabric of his shorts, head buried all the way into imaginary sand. "Because I mean, there's no girl that doesn't want you. I just wanted to know so-"

"So you could get a hall pass?"

His question is accented with a disbelieving brow-raise, something like distaste amongst his moled features. Riki's hand smooths over his neck, unsettled by how nervous he is in the presence of a friend. 

"Something more long-term, actually," Riki supplies, finding it in himself to verbalise what he's kept locked away since that night. "I like her. I'd like to take her out if she'd let me."

There's a silence after his words, nothing but the house's usual sounds of Heeseung's yells and keyboard smashes, Jake's playlist playing through the living room speakers. It's a confession he's known since he'd first met you and yet, when said in front of Sunghoon, he isn't quite sure how the words will land.

"Shit Riki," Sunghoon curses, something akin to amusement in his features. He leans back in his office chair, matching grey hoodie and shorts hanging off his large frame. "Should've just said you were serious about the girl. Would've backed off ages ago." 

"You seemed close," Riki recalls, thinking back to when you physically helped him brush Sunghoon's teeth. The intimacy of the moment lingers in his mind longer than he's liked. 

"Well, yeah. I've been trying since first year," Sunghoon laughs, not even minutely embarassed at being rejected for almost four years. "But she's pretty set on being friends. Even more so now,"

Recollection pinches his features together, hands smoothing over the five o'clock shadow he almost always has. "Lowkey she might be into you. She's brought you up a lot."

Riki can't quite believe his ears. "Sorry?"

"She has this Pinterest board - I even downloaded that for her - for guy fits she likes, but I think it's just what she'd dress her boyfriend in," Sunghoon says, shaking his head. "Anyways, it's like, your style to a tea. So, she wouldn't have to convince you. Plus, she said you're cute. She never compliments guys."

Riki frowns. "Surely that's not true."

"Bro! During my bulk, when I was at like, peak sexiness, she said I looked like I'd burst from all the roids I must be taking," Riki swipes a smile off his face, clearing his throat to disguise his laughter. "Mind you, I don't need enhancers to get big anywhere,"

Riki's eyes roll. "She's also said nice things about Jake, but never his appearance and he's a fucking stud."

"Maybe that's not what matters to her."

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, chair creaking as he turns back to his monitors. "Here you go, Romeo," he shakes his computer mouse, clicks bringing screens to life. "Maybe that's shit she's charmed for ─ couldn't be me. But yeah, go ahead. She's all yours."

A flutter kickstarts in Riki's chest, lips folding over each other to disguise what he's already shown.

"Only mine?'

"Don't push it," Sunghoon warns through a side eye, no real bite to his words. "Close the door behind you, I'm gonna have a tactical jerk before tonight's party." 

"Right, because you've got chyl─"

"Get out, Riki."

How Riki's found himself in this situation, he'll never know. Nevertheless, if there's a higher power orchestrating this, he'll spend his existence in good faith because there's simply no way this is happening.

The evening starts off with a crackle of nerves, enough for him to desert his dinner thanks to Jake's inability to make one serving. He apologises, saying he's had a big lunch but his leftovers will be tomorrow's lunch, whisking off to their shared downstairs bathroom to start getting ready. While he does put effort into his appearance, this goes above his norm, every item of clothing or jewellery picked out with precision, laid out and deliberated in time that seems to fly by. He takes his time with his hair, a bit overgrown but styling it like you had that night, dusting the blush on the apples of his cheeks as he peers at his reflection. Heck, he even gives himself a manicure, pushing back his cuticle and making sure his nails are trimmed with no sharp edges, nails shining in chrome like a good luck charm. When Heeseung abruptly comes into his room for some cologne, they're both startled. Riki sitting on his edge of his bed ,in a black bathrobe with a green face mask on, nail file in hand. 

Heeseung damn nearly topples over in laughter when Riki pushes him out, shutting the door to hear Heeseung yell out. "Holy fuck, this guy's pussy whipped!" 

Perhaps the comedic break does some good to his nerves, but they're very much well and alive once the house party starts, one last night before the Easter break. So, if Riki wants to spend the next four weeks reliving every interaction you've had because he was too scared to get your number, he'd have to put in work tonight.

Usually, he has little to no alcohol before he moves onto weed, but with shaky pupils scanning the living room, he's yet to see you and since his heart can't differentiate between being held hostage and looking for you, he yields to Sunghoon's request of a friendly beer pong game. Sunghoon hard carries their team against his two teammates, Jungwon and Taehyun, and because Riki can't think straight, he has almost four drinks before he's trudging outside, needing some air and a blunt. 

The usual suspects are outside - Jake, Haechan, Beomgyu, Heeseung and you. He'd missed you, your entrance made through the back alley because Jake said he had hot gossip that couldn't wait. Relief drops him into the chair opposite, a side-eye cast at Heeseung whose purposely positioned himself next to you with Jake on your other side, the dirty look all but gone when you acknowledge him in front of the entire group.

"Was wondering when you'd swing by," something unlabelled lines your lips, pulled in easiness accelerating Riki's heart rate the more he looks at you. The bore of your eyes. "Wanna hit the bong?"

He's too hopeless to speak, settling for a nod and looking back on it, he thinks it's then that seals his fate. How racket settles in his chest and mellowness makes his lids heavy, opening him up to normal interaction, careless jokes thrown around because despite how comfortable you make others around you, the romantic prospect of you has always held him back. Scared that he'll seem like a try-hard, that he's starved for attention, a turn-off, for a lack of better words. However, his perspective is warped at best, a shuffle of seats having you end next to him as their circle go in and out the house. You talk like you're the only ones outside, close and whispered, enough for the hairs on the back of his neck to stand when you lean in further, lips so close to his jugular he's afraid you'll hear the hammer of his heart. Know he's into you. 

"You've got a mole here too," you offer up some space before he's about to combust, your finger instead resting on the mole. It's under his chin, dangerously close to his quick pulse. "They're really pretty."

"I've got more down my back," he answers, because he's stupid. A fucking idiot actually. "Seven, I think."

You lean back in your chair, leg swinging over to hike your impossibly short skirt dangerously high, slyness pulling your features. "Isn't that a treat."

That's the nail in the coffin. One Riki doesn't hear beyond the desperate squeeze his burned lungs do, eyes quickly averting to Heeseung's prying ones, mouthing a shared, "What the fuck?" Somehow you miss it and slip back to conversation, like you didn't single-handedly dismantle Riki's brain. He performs the miracle of making his brain work despite the ingested weed's call for slow, making up some sentences up until Riki mentions his Chrome Hearts themed bong, your eyes sparkling in response. You ask to see it and even though he has many pictures of the thing, he wants to show you properly. Offers a quiet hand to you after he's stood to his feet, smiles mirrored between you two before navigates through the warm bodies swaying to music, beelining to his bedroom.

He notices you lock the door behind you. Shyness offered. "Don't tell me you haven't been locking your door during these parties."

"I'm usually good about it," Riki speaks slower, aided by the relaxation coursing through him. 

"Good. Because we've had forks stolen during one of ours," you roll your eyes, shrugging off your faux-fur toasted jacket. You hang it amongst the rack of Riki's coats, the piece fitting in so nicely with his. "Uni students steal anything."

"Tell me about it." He thinks back to the traffic cone Sunghoon had in his bedroom first year, then promptly forgets all about him. About everyone except you.

He shows you the bong, hoping his mind isn't hallucinating how close you are, pretty much doing a Show n' Tell because now with you in his room, everything seems serious. Like if he says the wrong thing, interepts something wrong and goes along with it, it'll ruin his chances forever.

"It's not much, but it's me."

"That's what I like about it," you express, perched on the edge of his bed alongside him. Thighs touching, face illuminated by the black candles matching with every colour choice in the room except deep splashes of maroon. "It's got all your memories, everything you've loved and are. It's…refreshing,"

Your hand falls over his, fingers threading between the gaps of his fingers, squeezing. "Thank you for showing it to me."

"Of course," his answer comes out in a whisper, muffled by the students coming in and out the house. "It's easy with you ─ comfortable." 

It's the first bone he throws, not intentionally but a peek into his vulnerability he can't get mad at himself for, not when you're smiling at him like you do. With his laptop in front of you two, where his desk is, he gets his Spotify up, putting on a blend playlist at your suggestion. You don't stop holding hands through the entire interaction, more command in his veins as his thumb grazes over your knuckles. Some more talking happens, but it's almost lost in the grand scheme of things when his heavy lids drop down to your lips, wondering how the cold metal of your snakebites would feel, the noises you'd make when he wouldn't rush kissing you like every loser looking just to get some. How he'd savour you like he's wanted to ever since he laid eyes on you. 

The opportunity comes like destiny, over the chorus of Joey Bada$$' 'Y U Don't Love Me?' forever remembered as the moment he kisses you. Colour explodes beyond his closed eyes, a moan releasing at the pillowy press of you, your free hand coming up to cup his face while his other rests around your nape, thumb stroking skin as he loses himself in you. The weed cycling through his system intensifies the moment tenfold, having to hold onto you to assure himself he's tethered to reality, groaning at the cold metal sliding past his lips as he captures your bottom lip in a teasing bite. You moan at that, the prettiest sound he's ever heard and when he's ready to get on his knees to worship you like he's always wanted to, you beat him to it. 

"I wanted to─" Riki starts.

The unbuckle of his belt is strikingly loud amidst the house party, ringing in his ears as your tongue swipes your bottom lip, teeth left in its wake as you insist. "Later. I want you in my mouth now." 

And who is he to argue? Especially when every second of this is plucked from the dark corners of his mind, watching with a laboured chest as you unbutton his jeans and free him from his precome-damp boxers, cock springing free. 

Wonder dazzles in your eyes, a satisfied hum resonating through your chest as your tongue immediately lolls out, swirling all around his flushed tip, ending off a dipped tongue in his precome-filled slit, groaning at the taste. "Fuck, you're huge. Taste good too."

Riki's shoulders drop in defeat, hand coming out to cup your face as he looks at you with agony. "You're gonna be the death of me."

"Don't go dying on me, Riki," you smirk, lowering your plump lips to his cock, hand folded over it, thumb grazing its engorged veins. "You haven't fucked me yet."

Between the weed-amplified sense and the dream that is you, Riki doesn't anticipate himself lasting long. Especially when you're working him like this, unconcerned with being messy as you cover his length in spit, smeared it into your hands to account for what can't fit into your mouth. You start off so sweet, teasing disguised as you cover his length in adoring kisses, from his balls your hands fiddle with, up his shaft to his tip, leaking by the time you get there. The chuckle you do vibrates into his hot skin, earning a hiss from him as you lap it up with devious enthusiasm, taking all you can in one go. 

"Fuckkkk," 

If his other hand wasn't supporting him to sit straight, it would've pulled at his bleached strands, thighs quivering at the warm sensation of your mouth feeding itself more and more of him. Your head bobs further each time you take more, sloppy as ever as the wet suction and slick drag eating away at the music from his laptop. Or the party right outside his door, so far from mind as his ears only catch on the sounds of the gags you do on him, overconfident but never relenting, the constant throat-close around him pulling a pained whimper from him. 

"God, your throat feels so good, baby," the words come so naturally to him, eyes closed in pleasure. "Taking me so well."

Around his length, you mumble, "I'll take more. I want more." 

He damn near comes right then and there, precome beading down your throat you attempt to fit more of him into. Riki throws his head back, fingers carding through your hair and pulling, not meaning to but spurred on by your moans of ecstasy, his cock throbbing in your mouth as you keen, "Harder please," 

So sweet to him, he could never say no to you. As your head bobs, your tongue swirls, a groan unearthed from the deepest of Riki's chest as he pulls harder at your strands, breaths coming out hard and fast as he tries holding himself back. But you're so good, moving your hand in tandem with your mouth, sucking him like he's the best thing you've put in your mouth and he undoes. 

"Shit, wait ─ I'm gonna come," he warns, eyebrows pulled together but it appears as no concern to you. Gaining confidence and momentum, you push yourself to nuzzle your nose against his pelvis, gagging hard enough to wet your lashes but everything's secondary to you. Getting Riki to come is everything, which comes as you whimper and cough around his length, nails scratching at his hips, over the mole you kissed on your way down his torso and he comes. "Gonna fill your─hmph!"

He pulls hard at your hair, only adding to his orgasm as you squeal around his length, wiggling your ass like you'll push into some pressure and it kills Riki, flooding your mouth in hot spurts of come, his body curling into itself as his cock softens in the mouth you keep him in. Once he's blinked enough for his sight to return, relieved but wanting more, his cock slips from your glossed lips, your face coming into view as tears streak down your warm cheeks, so pretty and perfect for him with come edged in the corner of your lips. 

"Don't swallow."

You're about to swipe the come into your mouth when he says that, curiosity in your expression, morphing into surprise as he pulls you closer into a kiss. The gasp muffles against his plump lips, some of his come already down your throat but enough shared between your mouths as his tongue darts into your mouth, kissing and tasting every inch of you, leaving you dizzer than ever. You're fawn legged, collapsing in a heap back onto the grey carpet after the kiss, looking up at Riki with saucer eyes, a look across his face familiar in the way he feels he looks at you like. He can do nothing but smirk as his thumb swipes away missed come from the corner of your lips, licked off his thumbpad. 

"We taste so good together, angel," he smirks, darkness flared in his eyes. "Just like I thought."

Riki thinks he's scared you off.

Perhaps the heat of the moment led him astray and this is its consequence, but he'd been so deprived of your lips on him, he took every chance to have you on him. Including when your mouth was full of come.

When Heeseung hears this the next morning, he sits there with his pink cat-ear headphones with a jaw dropped, appalled. "You're a fucking freak, dude. Or a narcissist. I can't tell the difference." 

Heeseung's words don't inspire much confidence, especially when Riki recalls how after the kiss, your phone buzzed, a frantic call coming from your housemate that ultimately ends up with you disappearing into the moonlight, a thousand apologies falling from your lips as you scurry out the door, shouldering people in the torpido wind you rush off with. Nothing more said, just a rushed goodbye...not even a goodbye kiss, if Riki allows himself to be more embarrasing about you.

Days later, he's settled on a kitchen stool, house vacant as the rest of the guys have left for the holiday break. Riki runs his hands through his hair, cursing himself for scaring you when he had you. Plentiful curse words cross his minds, cut off by the ping of his phone lighting up on the kitchen marble counter.

Unknown number: hey, i got your number for jake. sorry for the unexpected text (╥﹏╥)

Unknown number: my housemate's boyfriend broke up with her and i think we've eaten enough ice cream and egged his house enough for her to get home okay. i don't like how i left things, but i at least wanted offer an explanation for me dipping so suddenly.

Unknown number: if you're still around, you're welcome to come round mine or i can come to yours. i'd just like to talk things out if you're willing to. i'm really sorry <3

Being mad at you hadn't even crossed his mind, but it very clearly crossed yours. And when the realisation hits, he grabs the few things he needs and bolts out the door, on his way to you. 

You're waiting outside your doorstep for him when he drifts round the corner, air cycling out his lungs as he runs the rest of the way, watching you blink back surprise, only for it to muffle against his lips as he crashes lands on you, face screwed in all the worry and longing he has for you. Always had for you, body pressed to yours as you melt into his embrace, hands gripping the collar of his jean jacket for dear life as you lose yourself too.

Not much talking is done, just a lot of 'miss you's and 'you're it for me,' coming from Riki. He's so wrecked when he can have you like this, splayed across the wine and charcoal of your bedspread, shorts and underwear tossed aside, folds glistening with all the arousal swimming in your eyes as you cry, "Riki, please." 

"Let me, princess. Let me," he whispers breathlessly, so close to your cunt, the warmth of his breath making you shudder. "You're so fucking pretty, baby. Been dreaming of this forever." 

Speaking like a man tortured, he gives into his dreams, falling into the inevitable as he presses a kiss to your clit before licking a stripe straight from your entrance back to your clit, swallowing slick after the swirls of his tongue. You keen high in your throat, hands flying to his hair for stability, nails grazing his scalp as his life's purpose deviates to eating you out, eyes falling shut as he gets off on the withers of your body, your breath quivering each time you whine his name. He catalogues it all ─ somewhere where his brain isn't present, laser-focused on the slow open mouth kisses he gives your clit, tongue swiping to the chorus of your moans. 

"Rikiiii," you whine, his eyes finding yours squinted as pleasure blooms across your face. "Your fingers ─ hmph! Need them,"

"Anything you want, pretty thing," he mumbles against you, lips glistening in your slick as two fingers trace your entrance, obsessed with its repeated clench to catch them. He noses along your cunt, swirling his tongue with the right pressure to chase after your incoming orgasm. "Just ask me, I'm all yours."

The impatient whines dye his ears red, eased by helpless whines as his arm extends to your chest, pushing up the flimsy material of your tank top to play with your pebbled nipples, thighs closing around his head. He doesn't care, the close proximity only gets him harder as his fingers push into your crying walls, closing in on him with everything you have. 

Your fingers pull harder on his hair, a groan stifled against your clit as his fingers curls in you, a croak in your throat echoed as the sensation ripples through your body. 

"You're so pretty when you don't know what to do with yourself," he chuckles, a harder curl of his fingers bringing a stretched keen through gritted teeth. "Feel good, baby?"

"I-I can't think," you admit, cheeks flushed and expression dazed, eyes trying to find his. "Just want you, Riki. Want all of you."

"You have me, princess. Let me eat you out first," he speaks in a husk, only aiding the tension-filled coil pulling in your stomach. "You taste so good, baby. I'd spend all day here if I could."

And to an extent, he does. He's so attuned to what you like, how much pressure, how much suction that it's not long before desperate gasps for air swallow the room whole, eating at the wet mess sounds Riki makes between your thighs. Again, it's all secondary to the hurtle your body does, a cross between cries, begs and screams running out your lips as you chant his name, coming and coming. The burst of ecstasy is unlike anything you've ever felt before, body mirroring the free float you do in between someplace between time and space, body raking through with shakes only feeding Riki's ego. Through it all, he maintains incessancy in his fingers as they pump into you, tongue migrating down around his fingers to taste every drop of your come. It's the kind of fixation you couldn't concoct in your wildest dreams, everything a mere mirage as your body just gives whatever Riki takes, sucking your clit and fingering you until you're shivering from overstimulation, bedsheets wet beneath you as you choke for air. 

Riki is nice enough to allow the nanoseconds between the removal of his lips on your cunt to the press of your joined lips to let you breathe, whining against you as his tongue darts into your mouth, your head tipped back as your syrupy head lives off the taste of you two mixed, getting every bit of obsession of you two together. 

"Don't we taste so good together?" he'd asked and even then, you agreed. More so now that in the bloom of softness and intimacy between you two, fingers curled in his strands as he rids himself of his pesky clothes, not having the heart to separate your lips as you help tug off his trousers and boxers. 

When nothing separates you, you do like you did back then in his room, fingers tracing the tattoo on his ribcage with a hungry fever, a kiss pressed into the kiss mark just near his hip before your teeth sink into the mole on the other hip. You're feral, one-track minded as Riki consumes all your thoughts, switching positions until your back is pushed back down into your mattress and your legs spread. Your head lifts to view him hold his hard cock in hand, tip weeping as his body folds in desperation, tip smearing your folds with precome. 

"Tell me you want it," Riki gruffs out, eyebrows knitted with pillowedlips. "Beg me to fuck you."

"Riki, please fuck me," impatience and frustration extend every letter of your plea, similar tears lining your eyes as your hand lowers to spread your folds, enticing him by the bite of his lips. "Your cock would feel so good in me. Am I not yours?"

"Fuck, you are."

"Then make me yours."

It's all he needs to hear, having had enough of his own games before he pushes in, both your mouths falling open at the stretch, your walls gripping him with all the hunger you have and more. The molten burn curls your toes and grits your teeth, feeling Riki everywhere, attached to all your senses as your breath stunts at the fill of him. And he has more to offer, feeding inch after inch until he's buried to the hilt, rewriting any concept you know of pleasure to him. 

He stalls in you, chest rising and falling as all his eyes consume do is you, your body beneath him, cunt stuffed with his twitching length, skin sweat-lined with a body half the size of him, quivering. Your pupils are blown, your eye colour serving as a mere ring around them, so gone for him he doesn't know how he maintains his composure. Just strokes hair out your face with the back of his fingers before he starts thrusting.

He doesn't start off slow, fast-forwarding to the moment he's pondered when alone and nothing his brain conjured before compares to this. Not in the slightest - the warmth of your skin, the squeeze of your cunt, the cries you do as your stomach pulls in overload, nails scraping at the duvet cover with forgotten restraint. Everything about this, he will never get over, refuses to and with the look you give him, he thinks you feel it too. 

He notches himself harder into you, groaning at the high keen you do as your eyes roll back, blinking tears away as you cry. "Kisses, Riki."

"You're so fucked out, princess," he purrs, a carnal feeling harbouring in his chest as he lowers himself down to you, safety-pin pendant on his chain feeding into your mouth, sucked on. "Your mouth's lonely, huh baby? Need to keep it stuffed, don't I?"

You nod around the pendant, all teary and doll eyed for him, soft gasp escaping as you let it go, finger curling around it to pull him closer. "Kiss me." 

"Manners."

"Pleaseeeee!" it comes out so rushed, so pathetic you can't quite believe the voice belongs to you, so high you only seek what you want. And that is him alone. "Pretty please, need you. Need your lips, need you so bad, 'Ki."

"Open your mouth." 

His command comes out with the kind of authority you're only compliant to, lips parted as spit lands on your tongue, at the back of your throat. Your mouth closes to taste him, whimpering at the mix of you two together. "Again, again. Please,"

"You're so greedy, baby," he replies, voice frayed by the grip of your cunt, smacking bodies bouncing off your cluttered walls. "It's okay, I want you too. Always wanted you."

He gives in, jaw unhinged under a dominating hand that keeps your mouth open for his spit, the force of its landing closing your eyes and contracting your body, a squeal muffled to your closed lips before his lips find them, kissing you like a man possessed. Kissing and tasting everywhere, making sure to fuck you through it all, nails scraping down his shoulder blades and back as he hits your sweet spot again and again. 

You could cry. You do, stray tears escaping the squeeze of your eyes, their trail licked by Riki as he separates from you, sharing breaths with his forehead against yours before he leaves altogether, firm hand pressing into the bulge peeking through your stomach as he thrusts in, watching the outline of him in you. 

"Rikiiii," you moan, so lost. "So good. You fuck me so─ngh, so good."

"I do, don't I, princess?" he muses, composure fraying further as he relishes in the faint-feel of his tip under his palm. "You're close, can feel you clenching for me,"

"You gonna be my good girl and come for me?"

The coil in your stomach is impossibly tight, you don't know much more you can take, frantic breaths choked back on sobs as you swipe tears out your eyes, looking at him despite the fact. "Yes! I'll be your good girl. I'm gonna come─!"

"Who's making you come, baby?" he asks, his husky voice all around you, your legs pushed to your chest as he leans his bodyweight into you. You can only sob. "Tell me."

"You, Riki. You!" you wail, stumped by your intercepted breath as he pushes further into you, face so close that your lips brush while you whine. "You're gonna make me come."

The coil snaps, everything coming afterwards. The cry of your lungs, the suspension of your breath and the dismantling of your body, so malleable to Riki's whims you accept him whole, hold his face as he ruts into you the last few times, whispering words that make you clench around him. 

"Taking all my come like the greedy girl you are, princess," he whimpers, eyebrows screwed tight. "Gonna keep you nice and stuffed. That'll keep you happy, won't it?"

It will, a chorus of agreements and kisses peppering his face as he shatters in your hold, burying himself deepest in you before he convulses, swallowing the room in his drawn out moans and curses. He doesn't want this to end, sees no end in you as he gives a last few half-hearted glides of his cock before he cringes from overstimulation, body collapsing onto you, going soft but keeping you plugged. Just like you wanted.

"You're everything I want," he confesses, pink in his cheeks and tip of his nose as he caresses hair out your hair, easing off you. "Please tell me you're mine. Let me take you out ─ please?"

He's so soft like this, sinking into every tender sentiment he holds in his heart for you. Merriment flutters in your chest, producing the giggle you do as you cast hair behind his ear, loving the overgrown look of his bleached hair. "Took you long enough." 

He smiles, the boxy kind that makes your heart soar before he giggles, kissing you with everything between the two of you, together as one. 

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[ikeucakez]

Missing you..

ꜱʏᴘɴᴏꜱɪꜱ: while away, your needy boyfriend, Jake, couldn’t help himself when he thought about you. especially after seeing your story of how good you looked. he took matters into his own hands.. before being walked in on. he ended up getting exactly what he wanted in the end.

ᴘᴀʀɪɴɢ: needy!jake x fem!reader

ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀɪɴɢ: enhypen jake, le sserafim yunjin

ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛꜱ: NSFW, smut, masturbation, frustration from not cumming, spit as lube, panties to jerk off, ball fondling, pillow humping, humiliation, p in v, unprotected sex(WRAP IT. DO NOT DO.), submissiveness, dominance , riding, cumming inside, nipple play, teasing, name usage(mommy, puppy, good boy, jakey, baby.. ect), panties in mouth, (might be missing some things!)

!NOT proofread!

──── ──── ୨ৎ──── ────

God did you look amazing.

“I’ll be back home in about 3 hours, bye Jakey!” Is what you had told him with a kiss before leaving.

That nickname with the kiss.. mm. All Jake wanted to do was drag you right back in and spend the whole day with you and kiss you all over.. What a shame.

Jake watched the door close, walking back over and plopping onto the couch next to Layla, your guys’ fur baby. Layla starts to nudge her nose against Jake’s thigh, silently asking for pets. Of course, he could never turn her down. He started petting her soft fur with his big veiny hands, his mind slowly drifting off of you. For now.

⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔

It had been a full 2 hours and 13 minutes. And god did Jake miss you.

This whole time he had been sleeping… trying to watch a movie.. snacking….sleeping. And it had been a full 10 minutes he’s been painfully hard. He’s trying to contain himself. He can’t help himself when it comes to you.. especially not when he opens instagram and sees your story. That beautiful outfit on you hugging just the right places.

He stands from the couch, making his way to the hallway, Layla following behind him. Jake gets to your guys shared bedroom, looking back at Layla looking up at her dad with that adorable face.

“Go lay down Layla.. I’ll be back.” Jake says to Layla as if she’s fluent in english. But of course, Layla knows the simple command of ‘go lay down’ and she starts to walk away to the living room.

Jake opens the bedroom, walking in and throwing himself on the bed.. taking a deep sigh of your pillow.

“Y/n..” He mumbles, god does he miss you.

He can feel his mini Jake rock hard in his sweats. Jake sits up, tugging at his sweats and revealing his boxers.. which have a pretty huge tent in them.

Jake pulls his boxers down, his veiny cock springing out against his stomach. The pretty pink mushroom tip leaking a bead of pre cum already.

“Fuck..” He curses to himself, a hushed whisper as he grabs the base, wiggling it around.

Jake spits in his hand, bringing it down and stroking lightly, soft at first. Using some of his leaking pre cum as extra lube to slide down his hard cock. A sweet whimper slipping from his plump lips as he speeds up.

⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔

You laugh with your best friend, Yunjin, before picking up your phone and opening it.

“Whatcha doin?” Yunjin asks, peeking over.

You giggle at her action, before opening your texts. “I just gotta let jake know i’ll be home soon.”

Yunjin sighs, shaking her head with a grin on her face. “Of course.. Jaeyun is really a puppy when it comes to you.”

You smile to yourself, nodding along. “Yea.. but I think it’s adorable.”

You both laugh as Yunjin pushes your shoulder.

⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔

𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝚃𝙴𝚇𝚃𝚂:

-‘I’ll be home soon, love you!’

*delivered*

⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔

He should’ve looked at your text. But no.

Now? Jake was absolutely just fucking his fist. Letting out the loudest whimpers..

“hngh! F-Fuck! Y/n- augh!”

He wasn’t even cumming, just kept stroking and fucking into his fist. He kept letting out frustrated whimpers.. his other hand fondling his balls to help. Which didn’t. He removed his hand with an upset groan/moan..? Before looking to your side of the bed and pulling your drawer open, fetching your panties. His favorite pair to be exact. A pretty white lace.. with little black bows on the side.

Jake brought the panties to his face, sniffing while still jerking off, only to find they were freshly washed.

“Mgh- what the fuck!” He frustratedly let out in a loud whimper, before bringing them down and stroking himself with the panties. He was fucking into the fabric.. Still not cumming.

Jake looked around like a lost puppy, eyes big and glossy with his veiny cock flushed and twitching. He looked around.. before spotting your pillow.

He’d be quick. Right?

Right?

He took the pillow, before setting it under his hips. He started humping the pillow hard.. Angry. As if imagining it was you. He shoved his face into the mattress letting out muffled noises.

“Y-Y/n you’re such a bad girl- fuck! lemme fuck this pussy please-!”

He couldn’t stop the lewd noises coming from his lips. Jake continued to hump the pillow like a dog. He kept whimpering and moaning into the mattress.. before he felt that feeling in his body.

His humps got sloppy, before fastening and boom.

Thick ropes of his cum shooting onto the pillow, being dragged and smeared around by his cock and balls as he kept humping.

“O-Oh- oh god..! M’cumming- take it, take it all-“

He kept fucking the pillow with his face in the mattress.. before his movements stopped. Laying loosely over the pillow. Before he heard it.

“Aww, hi Layla! Where’s your daddy, hm?”

You.

You were home.

He shot up, putting on his boxers and sweats in a hurry before grabbing the pillow. The door being opened.

“Hi baby! You- you okay?” You notice how pink his face down to his neck looks..

Jake pushes his hair back, acting as normal as ever with the pillow in his hands. “Yea- why wouldn’t I be?”

You raise an eyebrow, eyes glancing down to the pillow.

“Why do you have my pillow?”

Why. Do. You. Have. My. Pillow.

The words echoed. Fuck was he done for..

“Oh- I- I was just thinking- we should wash the pillows..!..?” Jake said, voice slightly higher

You walked toward him, reaching for the pillow, “Baby, I already did the other day.”

Jake immediately moved the pillow, “Well they need to be washed very often!”

“Are you hiding something Jake?”

‘Fuck.. she was catching on.’ He thought.

“No? Why would I? It’s just a pillow.. ha..”

You snatched the pillow from him, before holding it up,

“If it’s just a pillow why are you so defensive—?”

Your words stopped once you seen and smelt all the smeared cum. You look back at Jake, a knowing smirk on your lips.

“You fucked this pillow, didn’t you puppy?”

Jake avoided eye contact.. before nodding.

“Jakey.. you couldn’t hold yourself back, hm?”

You pet his head, a flush spreading throughout his face. You gently push him on the bed, before tugging down his pants. “You’re still hard?”

Jake whimpers, his eyes shutting as he nods.

“Words Jake.”

Jake opened his mouth, just to close it again before speaking. “Y-Yes..”

You grin, before spitting on your hand and trailing it to his hard length. Stroking him in deep slow strokes, squeezing right at the tip. His hips were bucking up lightly into your hand.

“Ah-ah Jake. Stop bucking.” You speed up your hand, feeling his veins running along your palm with each stroke.

“i-M’sorry..! I- I need to fuck your pussy baby..” He whimpers, head falling back.

Of course.. So needy and straightforward.

“Yea? Do you Jake? Or are you just ridiculously horny. God you’re such a loser baby..”

He moaned at that. It somehow turned him on. He watched as you got up, slipping your panties off and getting back onto the bed with him. pushing him down into the mattress and tugging his sweats and boxers all the way off. Jake sat up taking you with him in a heated kiss.

Your tongues constantly swiping against each other, as he licked at your bottom lip, asking for permission. You obliged as his tongue entered past your lips. You pulled away, bitting his lip. A string of saliva followed.

“Y/n- please..”

You pushed him back down with your hand on his chest, before bracketing his hips with your knees

“Please what, puppy?”

He groaned frustratedly, a hand running over his face.

“Please just fuck me.. please..”

You smiled, before lining yourself up on his thick cock. Teasing with just pushing the tip in, before slowly pressing yourself down onto his cock. Once fully nested in your wet heat, you both moaned.

Jake’s hand went straight to your hips as you leaned down to him, slowly moving your hips.

“Ngh.. please.. more..” He whimpered, hands starting to guide your hips faster.

You continued riding him, his prominent veins running along your gummy walls.. tight and secure around his cock.

“Fuck Jake.. Your cock is stretching me.. augh..!~”

You moaned as you starting bouncing harder on his cock, leaning to his neck to leave a hickey along his throat.

Jake moaned loud, guiding your hips to ride him harder.

“Fuck- Fuck! Y/n- m’so hard for yo-“ He was cut off by you shoving your panties into his mouth, he moaned around them at the taste.

“Shut up. You’re being so loud.. Can’t contain those moans, hm?” You tease, riding his cock slower, before going back to bouncing on him,

Jake’s eyes roll back, hips rutting up into yours.

You pull the panties out his mouth, your movements turning sluggish from how tired your thighs already were.

“Shit- mgh..~”

Jake noticed. Of course he did.. He flipped you guys over before shoving his veiny cock back into your pussy.

“Fuck!” You moan out, hands fisting the sheets from the amount of pressure going in.

He was grunting with each thrust, his cock plunging into your sloppy pussy.. his heavy balls slapping against your ass with the faint slaps and squelches of your pussy.

“Y/n- fuck- take all of it- please take my whole cock-“ Jake moans, thrusting faster.. before leaning down and taking one of your nipples into your mouth, making you moans louder.

“Jake-“

His fingers pinch the other one, before switching and sucking the other one, rolling the other one around.

“J-Jake- i’m gonna cum..!” You moan, back arching up into him off the mattress.

“M-Mommy- please cum.. I-i’ll cum with you- fuck i feel it..”

You were taken aback. Mommy? You didn’t mention it. You definitely would later.

“mgh- Yea? You’re gonna cum- cum in mommy?” Your hand trails up, tightening into the strands of his hair,

Jake lets out a particularly loud moan at the pain and pleasure, before nodding intensely while biting his lip.

“Yes! m-about to cum!” He moans, thumb moving to your clit and rubbing in harsh circles, “Cum with me- please-“

You whimper, squirming lightly, feeling that tight feeling in your tummy.

You both cum together, arching your backs as Jake stills inside you, emptying his hot release into your sopping pussy. He stays for a moment, before pulling out with a whine. You whimper at the loss, your pussy pulsing.

⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔⏔

You were lying back against the pillows on your bed, Jake’s head resting on your chest with his arms tight around your waist.

“Baby,” You suddenly spoke, causing him to look up at you, “You know what you said during all that?”

Jakes face instantly flushed, already knowing what it was.. hiding his face in your chest.

“Yes..” He mumbled.

You giggle, lifting his chin back up, “Oh now you’re shy about it? That wasn’t the case then,” You tease, watching his reaction.

“I know what I said.. ! Can you drop it..” He squeaks, eyebrows furrowed in embarrassment,

You fake thing for a moment, before looking back at him, “If you say it again, i’ll drop it.”

Jake’s eyes widen, before instantly shaking his head,

“No- A thousand times no! Why?!”

“Then I wont drop it..” You threaten, laughing to yourself.

“Fine.. mommy.” He mumbles incoherently.

You raise an eyebrow, “What was that? Couldn’t hear you properly.”

“I said- I said it!” He complains.

“Louder.”

“Mommy.”

“Good boy.”

──── ──── ୨ৎ──── ────

THE END! ANYWAYS WAS LOWKEY ASS BC THIS WAS THE FIRST FIC I WRITE ON HERE 😭