#niki nishimura

[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.)

[bellaflippy]

angels dance

pairing ✧˖°. brothersbsf!riki x jays sister!reader (f) part 2 -> halos and hands

synopsis ✧˖°.  you sneak downstairs to your brothers halloween party dressed as an angel and run into his best friend riki. after jay finds you, riki carries you upstairs and convinces you to stay with him instead of going back to the party. drinks, a blunt, and tension lead to your first real time with the hung, cocky boy who purrs like a puma and chokes you while he claims you as his.

contains ✧˖°. explicit sexual content ; age gap ; inexperienced reader ; hung riki ; cocky riki ; purring/growling kink ; choking ; breath play ; halloween party setting ; smoking weed ; drinking ; brother's best friend ; pet names (angel, doll, ect) ; praise kink ; dirty talk ; rough sex ; protected sex (never socket an unwrapped rocket!!) ; possessive behavior ; aftercare ; emotional begging ; jay finding them ; sexual tension ; grinding/dancing ; oral sex ; fingering ; multiple orgasms ; wc: 6.6k ; i probably missed some.. just read it pls

notes ✧˖°. i actualy fw this SO HARDDD OMGGGG!! this was based off this ask, thank you SO much @orangebloodrikibiggesthyper you truly cooked so hard with this. warning: i DID listen to pnd while writing this... im horny as hell LMFAO. PLS ENJOY :)

you stand in front of your mirror for the third time, turning sideways to check how the skirt falls.

the angel costume had been an impulse buy, something you grabbed at the costume shop two days ago when you realized jay was actually going through with this party.

white lace everywhere, a bodice that hugs your chest more than youre used to, and a skirt that flares out in layers of tulle. it hits mid thigh, shorter than anything your parents let you wear to school, but youre eighteen now. youre an adult. you can wear what you want.

the halo sits on your head, held up by a thin wire headband, and the wings strap around your shoulders, white feathers that brush against your lower back when you move.

you look... you look pretty, actually. pretty and innocent and sweet.

which is exactly why jay is going to lose his mind.

but thats part of the appeal, isnt it? the thought of your older brothers face when he sees you downstairs, in his space, at his party. the way his jaw will tighten and his eyes will narrow. the way hell try to order you back upstairs like youre still twelve.

youre not twelve anymore. youre eighteen, youre legal, and you want to see what a real party looks like.

the music starts around nine, thumping bass that vibrates through your floorboards and into your bones. youve been in your room for two hours, listening to the sounds of people arriving, laughter echoing up the stairs, bottles clinking. you checked your phone forty minutes ago and saw a text from jay

jay

stay upstairs. seriously. dont come down

you didnt reply.

now its ten thirty, and the party is in full swing. you can hear shouting, someone singing badly to a song you recognize, the general chaos of too many people in one space. you take a deep breath, adjust your halo one last time, and open your bedroom door.

the hallway is dark, lit only by the orange string lights jay hung earlier. you pad down the carpet in your white ankle boots, heart hammering so hard you can feel it in your throat. halfway down the stairs, you pause and peek over the railing.

the living room is transformed. the furniture has been pushed against the walls, the coffee table is covered in red cups and bottles, and the floor is packed with bodies. someone brought a fog machine, and it pumps thick white mist that swirls around peoples legs.

the lights are dim, purple and orange and red, casting everything in strange shadows. strobe lights flicker in the corner, making the dancers look like theyre moving in stop motion.

you spot jay near the kitchen entrance, dressed as a vampire with a cape and fake blood dripping from his mouth. hes laughing at something, a cup in his hand, surrounded by his friends. he looks happy, relaxed, completely unaware that youre about to crash his night.

you take the last few stairs quickly, before you can change your mind, and slip into the crowd.

the music is loud, some remix with a heavy bass line that makes your chest vibrate. the air smells like sweat and cheap beer and someones vanilla perfume. you weave through dancing bodies, murmuring "sorry" when you bump into a guy dressed as a zombie, keeping your head down and your wings tucked close.

the kitchen is slightly less crowded, and you make your way toward the counter where someone set up a makeshift bar.

youre not planning to drink much, just enough to look like you belong. you reach for a cup, and thats when you hear it.

"well, well, well."

the voice is low and smooth and comes from directly behind you. you freeze, cup halfway to your lips, and turn slowly.

riki is leaning against the fridge, arms crossed over his chest, looking completely at ease in a pair of black jeans and a black button down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.

hes drawn stitches across his cheeks and forehead in silver marker, giving him a frankenstein vibe, but the effect is less monster and more... something else. something that makes your stomach flip.

hes twenty now, only two years older than you, but sometimes he seems so much more grown up.

hes been jays best friend since middle school, has practically grown up in your house. youve known him for years, watched him go from a skinny kid to the tall, lean man standing in front of you now.

"riki," you breathe. "hey."

"hey?" he repeats, one eyebrow arching up. he pushes off the fridge and steps closer, and you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. theyre dark in the dim light, fixed on your face with an intensity that makes you want to squirm. "thats all youve got? hey?"

"what do you want me to say?" you ask, trying to sound confident even as your voice wavers.

"how about explaining why youre down here when jay specifically told you to stay upstairs?" he stops in front of you, close enough that you can smell his cologne, something woodsy and warm.

"how about telling me why youre dressed like that, looking like a little lamb wandering into a wolves den?"

"i look fine," you say, lifting your chin.

"you look..." his gaze drags down your body, slow and deliberate, from your halo to your heeled boots. he takes his time, his eyes lingering on your chest, your waist, your legs. "you look like trouble, angel. like you walked straight out of a dream and into a nightmare."

"i can handle myself," you say, but the words dont sound as certain as you want them to.

"can you?" he reaches out, his fingers brushing your cheek, and you freeze. his touch is warm, calloused, and he traces the edge of your jaw with his thumb. "look at you. all dressed in white. pure and sweet and innocent. do you have any idea what half the guys down here are thinking right now? do you know what they want to do to a pretty little thing like you?"

"riki," you whisper, your face heating.

"you shouldnt be here," he says softly, his thumb moving to trace your lower lip. he makes a low sound in his throat, almost like a purr, pleased and rumbly. "jay would lose his mind. hes already looking for you, you know. asked me ten minutes ago if id seen his sister. said he saw someone in white near the stairs and got worried."

panic spikes through you. "he saw me?"

"he saw someone," riki corrects, his hand sliding down to cup your jaw. "but he doesnt know it was you. not yet. hes making the rounds, checking the bathrooms. youve got maybe five minutes before he figures it out."

"what do i do?" you ask, your voice small.

riki studies you for a long moment, his thumb stroking your cheek. then he sighs, a soft sound that seems to come from deep in his chest. "come with me," he says, taking your hand. his fingers thread through yours, easy and confident. "ill keep you safe. but you have to do what i say. can you do that, doll? can you be good for me?"

the petname sends a shiver down your spine. "yes," you whisper. "ill be good."

"thats my girl," he murmurs, and that low purr rumbles in his throat again. he leads you through the crowd.

he keeps you close, his body shielding you from view, his hand tight on yours. he navigates the party like he knows every corner, every hiding spot, pulling you into the small space between the fridge and the wall where the shadows are thickest. from here, you can see the kitchen entrance, can watch jay as he moves through the room, his vampire cape swirling around him.

"hes going to find me," you whisper, pressing yourself against the wall.

"not if i can help it," riki says. hes standing in front of you, his arms braced on either side of your head, caging you in. "but if he does, you let me do the talking. you dont say a word. you just look pretty and keep your mouth shut. can you do that, sweetheart?"

"yes," you breathe, looking up at him.

"good girl," he says, and that purring sound vibrates again, deeper this time. his eyes drop to your mouth.

he leans in closer, his lips almost brushing your ear. "you know," he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, "you shouldve dressed up as a doll instead of an angel. wouldve suited you better."

you pull back slightly, confused. "what?"

"a doll," he repeats, his gaze roaming over your face. "all pretty and fragile, waiting for someone to pick you up and play with you. thats what you look like, isnt it? a little doll that wandered into the wrong toy box. my pretty little doll."

the words send another shiver through you, and youre not sure if its from the air conditioning or the way hes looking at you. "thats creepy, riki."

"is it?" he laughs, a low sound that you feel more than hear, almost like a growl. "maybe. but im not wrong. you look like you need someone to take care of you. someone to keep you safe and put you back on the shelf when the games over."

"and thats you?" you ask, your voice barely audible over the music. "youre going to take care of me?"

"if you let me," he says, his eyes serious now. "if you trust me."

before you can answer, jays voice cuts through the noise, calling for heeseung, and riki blinks, pulling back slightly. "hes getting closer," he murmurs. "stay here. dont move."

he pushes away from the wall and steps into the kitchen, intercepting jay before he can get too close to your hiding spot. you cant hear what theyre saying over the music, but you see jay gesture sharply, his expression frustrated, and riki nod, clapping him on the shoulder. after a minute, jay turns and walks back toward the living room, and riki returns to you, his expression unreadable.

"what did you tell him?" you ask.

"told him i saw you upstairs, in your room, asleep," riki says, taking your hand again. "bought you some time. but hes suspicious. hes going to check eventually."

"what do we do?"

riki looks down at you, his gaze softening slightly. "we get you out of here. come on."

he leads you through the kitchen, but instead of going toward the back door, he turns toward the living room. "riki," you hiss, pulling back. "jay is in there."

"exactly," he says. "hes looking in the bathrooms, the porch, the garage. he wont expect you to be in the middle of the crowd. sometimes the best hiding spot is right in plain sight."

he pulls you into the mass of dancing bodies, his arms wrapping around your waist from behind, shielding you from view. you can feel his chest against your back, his chin resting on your shoulder as he sways with you to the music.

"just relax," he murmurs in your ear. "look like youre having fun. like you belong here."

you try to do as he says, letting your body move with his, your hips swaying to the beat. his hands stay on your waist, his thumbs rubbing slow circles against the fabric of your skirt. you feel dizzy, overwhelmed by the music and the heat and the feel of him pressed against you. you can feel something hard against your lower back, thick and heavy even through his jeans, and your face heats as you realize what it is.

"thats it, angel," he whispers, grinding slightly against you, letting you feel how big he is. "just like that. youre doing so good."

you lose track of time, dancing with him, his body guiding yours. he gets you a drink, something pink and sweet in a plastic cup, and you sip it while he keeps his arms around you, his presence a wall between you and the rest of the world. he calls you doll when he thinks youre being cute, angel when he thinks youre being naive, sweetheart when hes being tender. the names blend together, wrapping around you like a blanket.

at one point, he spins you around to face him, his hands on your hips, and you look up at him, breathless. "youre beautiful," he says, his voice barely audible over the bass. "you know that? been staring at you all night. couldnt help myself."

"riki," you breathe, your heart hammering.

"my pretty little doll," he murmurs, his forehead dropping to yours. "my sweet angel. what are you doing to me?"

you dont get a chance to answer, because thats when you hear it.

"riki."

the voice cracks through the noise like a whip, and you both freeze. jay stands at the edge of the dance floor, his vampire cape slightly askew, his eyes wide and then narrowing dangerously as he takes in the scene. you pressed against riki, his hands on your hips, your empty cup on the floor beside you.

"oh, shit," you breathe.

"jay," riki says, his voice calm, almost lazy. he doesnt move his hands from your waist. "whats up?"

"whats up?" jay strides across the floor, ignoring the people who scatter out of his way. he stops in front of you, his jaw tight. "ive been looking everywhere for you. heeseung said he saw someone in white near the stairs an hour ago. i knew it was you. i told you to stay upstairs."

"i'm sorry," you start, but jay isn't listening.

"and you," he whips around to face riki, his voice rising. "i told you. i specifically told you. if you see her, if you see my sister at this party, you bring her upstairs. immediately. thats what you said youd do."

the area around you has gone quiet, people watching the scene unfold with the morbid fascination of drunk partygoers sensing drama.

riki straightens up, finally dropping his hands from your waist. he looks at jay, then at you, then back at jay. "what do you think im doing?" he asks, his voice still infuriatingly calm.

"youre standing here dancing with her!" jay explodes. "shes drunk, riki. look at her. and youre just... youre just..."

"i'm watching her," riki says. "keeping her safe. which is more than i can say for you, since you let her wander down here in the first place."

jay opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. "just... just take her upstairs. please. throw her in her room or something. i can't deal with this right now."

"gladly," riki says.

before you can process what's happening, he moves. one second hes standing beside you, the next hes bending down and his shoulder is hitting your stomach. you let out a shriek as he lifts you, his arm wrapping around your thighs to keep you steady as he straightens up, dangling you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"riki!" you gasp, your face burning as you realize your skirt has ridden up, your ass practically hanging out in your white lace panties. "put me down!"

"nope," he says, his hand settling possessively on the back of your thigh, his fingers dangerously close to where your skirt ends. "orders are orders."

"riki, please," you whimper, squirming, but he just tightens his grip.

"stop moving, doll," he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear. "unless you want everyone to see whats under that skirt."

you go still, mortified, as riki turns and carries you through the crowd. you can hear jay calling after him, something about locking you in, but the words blur together with the music and the blood rushing in your ears. riki's shoulder digs into your stomach with every step, his hand warm and firm on your thigh, and youre dizzy from the alcohol and the upside down position and the feel of his fingers so close to...

"here we are," he says, and then youre being lowered, your feet touching the floor of your bedroom. you stumble, grabbing his arm for balance, and he steadies you with a hand on your waist.

the door clicks shut behind him.

you stand there, breathing hard, your halo askew and your wings bent. your skirt is still hiked up, and you hastily tug it down, your face flaming. anger bubbles up in your chest, hot and sudden.

"why would you do that?" you demand, your voice shaking. "you said he wouldnt come over. you said wed be safe down there. i was having fun, riki. i was actually having fun for once."

riki blinks, surprised by your outburst. "y/n..."

"no," you say, backing away from him. "you promised. you said youd keep me safe and let me stay at the party. but the second jay told you to do something, you just... you just obeyed. you didnt even fight for me. you just picked me up like a child and carried me away."

"thats not fair," he says quietly.

"isnt it?" you cross your arms over your chest, your eyes pricking with tears. "i thought you were different. i thought you actually understood. but youre just like him. you just want to control me too."

riki is quiet for a long moment, his expression unreadable. then he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "relax," he says softly. "wouldnt you rather have fun with me alone up here, instead of downstairs and being cautious of what youre doing?"

the question catches you off guard. "what?"

"wouldnt you rather be up here," he repeats, stepping closer, "away from all those people, away from your brother watching your every move, away from having to hide and sneak around... just you and me? wouldnt you rather that, doll? no rules. no jay. just us."

you stare at him, your anger faltering. "youre staying?"

"if you want me to," he says, stopping in front of you. "i can go back down. can tell jay im checking on you, make sure youre asleep. or..." he reaches out, his fingers tracing your jaw. "or i can stay. keep you company. make sure you dont get lonely. show you how much fun we can have, just the two of us."

your breath catches. "youd do that?"

"for you?" he pulls back, his eyes meeting yours. "id do anything for you, angel. havent you figured that out yet?"

you stare at him, your heart hammering against your ribs. the anger is gone now, replaced by something warmer, heavier. "okay," you breathe. "okay. stay."

his smile is slow, spreading across his face like honey. he makes that purring sound again, low and pleased. "thats my girl," he murmurs. "thats my good girl."

he pulls something from his back pocket with one hand and pulls out two small bottles of pink lemonade, the kind that comes in the glass bottles. then he reaches into his other pocket and produces a small baggie, the contents dark and pungent.

you eyes widen. "riki. is that...?"

"just a little something to help you relax," he says, his voice casual. "you ever smoked before, princess?"

"no," you admit. "ive been around it. but i never... i was always too scared."

"scared of what?"

"of losing control," you say quietly. "of doing something stupid."

riki is quiet for a moment. then he squeezes you gently. "you wont do anything stupid," he says. "not with me here. ill take care of you. i wont let anything bad happen. you trust me?"

you think about it. you think about all the years hes been in your life, all the times hes been kind to you, protective of you. you think about the way he looks at you, like youre precious, like youre his.

"yes," you whisper. "i trust you."

"good," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "thats my sweet girl. well start slow, okay? just a little. enough to take the edge off."

he finds your lighter in your desk drawer, the one you use for candles, and rolls the blunt with practiced fingers. he lights it, the tip glowing orange, and holds it to your lips.

"just inhale a little," he instructs. "hold it. let it out slow."

you do as he says, the smoke burning your throat, making you cough. he laughs softly, a warm sound that vibrates against your back, and rubs circles on your arm.

"easy," he murmurs. "try again. smaller this time."

the second hit is easier, and by the third, youre holding the smoke in your lungs like he showed you, letting it out in a slow stream toward the ceiling. he takes a hit himself, his chest expanding against your back, and then offers it to you again.

"time for a drink," he says, opening one of the bottles and handing it to you. "thisll help with the burn."

you sip, the sweet liquid coating your throat, and he opens his own bottle. the two of you pass the blunt back and forth, sipping your drinks, and slowly the tension drains from your body. you feel floaty, warm, safe in the circle of his arms.

"how you feeling, angel?" he asks, his lips brushing your ear.

"good," you sigh, your head lolling back against his shoulder. "really good."

"yeah?" his hand slides down your arm, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin. "you look good. look relaxed. look pretty."

"you think im pretty?" you ask, your voice sounding distant to your own ears.

"i think youre beautiful," he says, his voice serious. "think youre the prettiest girl ive ever seen. been thinking about you for years, you know. watching you grow up. waiting."

"waiting for what?"

"for you to be ready," he says. his hand moves to your thigh, his fingers tracing the hem of your skirt. "for you to want me like i want you."

your breath catches. "you want me?"

"so bad," he groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. he makes a low growling sound, like a puma staking claim. "so fucking bad, doll. you have no idea. seeing you tonight, in this little outfit... do you know how hard it was not to drag you out of that party the second i saw you? how hard it was to keep my hands off you?"

"why did you?" you ask, turning your head to look at him. "why didnt you just...?"

"because youre jays sister," he says, his eyes meeting yours. "because youre younger. because you deserve better than some guy pawing at you in a dark corner. but mostly..." he swallows hard. "mostly because i wanted you to choose me. not because you were drunk or scared or caught up in the moment. but because you really wanted me."

"i do want you," you whisper, the words coming out braver than you feel. "i choose you, riki. i want you."

his eyes darken, his hand tightening on your thigh. "you dont know what youre saying, baby. youre high. youre drunk."

"i know exactly what im saying," you insist, turning more fully in his lap so youre facing him, your knees on either side of his hips. "i want you, riki. ive wanted you for so long. please."

for a moment, he just stares at you, his jaw tight, his chest rising and falling rapidly. then he groans, a sound torn from deep in his chest, and his hand comes up to cup the back of your head, pulling you down into a kiss.

its not gentle. its not sweet. its hungry, desperate, his tongue pushing past your lips to taste you, his fingers tangling in your hair, knocking your halo to the floor. you whimper into his mouth, your hands clutching his shoulders, and he growls, standing up with you in his arms.

he carries you the three steps to your bed and drops you onto it, following you down, his body pressing you into the mattress. he kisses you until you cant breathe, his hands roaming over your body, pushing your wings aside, tugging at the zipper of your costume.

"wait," you gasp as he drags his mouth down your neck. "riki, wait. ive never... i mean, i have, but only once. and it was... it wasnt good. i dont really know what im doing. im sorry."

he pauses immediately, lifting his head to look at you. his pupils are blown wide, his lips swollen, but his expression is soft. tender. "hey," he says, his voice gentle. he cups your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. "hey, its okay. its okay, princess. well go slow. ill take care of you. i promise."

"okay," you breathe, your heart slowing slightly. "okay. just... tell me what to do."

"ill tell you everything," he murmurs, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your nose, your lips. "ill show you. just relax for me. can you do that? can you relax and let me make you feel good?"

"yes," you whisper. "yes, please."

"good girl," he says, his smile sweet. "such a good girl for me."

he sits back on his heels and slowly, carefully, peels your costume off you. the zipper slides down, the fabric parting, and he lifts it over your head, leaving you in just your white lace bra and panties. his breath hitches, his gaze raking over you with something like reverence.

"look at you," he breathes. "fuck, baby. look at you."

you try to cover yourself, embarrassed, but he catches your wrists, pinning them gently to your sides. "dont hide from me," he says softly. "youre perfect. so perfect. let me look at you, angel. please."

you let your arms fall, letting him see you, and his eyes darken even more. he leans down, pressing kisses to your collarbone, the swell of your breast, the valley between them. he unhooks your bra with one hand, tossing it aside, and then his mouth is on your nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh until youre arching off the bed, moaning his name.

"riki, please," you whimper, your hips bucking up, seeking friction.

"what do you want, sweetheart?" he asks, his hand sliding down your stomach, his fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties. "tell me. use your words."

"i want you inside me," you gasp, the words shocking you even as you say them. "please, riki. i need you. i need you so bad."

he groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. he makes that purring sound again, deep and rumbling, vibrating against your skin. "fuck. okay. okay, baby. ive got you."

he strips quickly, his shirt and jeans and boxers hitting the floor in a pile, and you stare, your mouth going dry. hes beautiful, all lean muscle and smooth skin, and between his legs... your eyes go wide. hes huge, thick and long and heavy against his stomach, standing hard and proud. youve never seen anything like it. the guy youd been with before was nothing compared to this.

riki catches you staring and smirks, that cocky grin youve seen him give jay when he wins at video games. "like what you see, doll?" he asks, his voice dripping with confidence. he wraps his hand around himself, stroking slowly, showing off. "yeah, im big. bigger than you expected, isnt that right?"

you nod, unable to tear your eyes away. "riki, i dont know if... if youll fit..."

"ill fit," he says, his voice low and sure. "trust me, angel. ill make you take every inch. gonna stretch you out so good. gonna make you feel me for days." he crawls back over you, his cock dragging against your thigh, hot and heavy. "you want that? want me to fill you up? make you feel how big i am inside you?"

"yes," you whimper, your face flaming at his words. "please."

he reaches out tentatively, your fingers wrapping around him, and he hisses, his hips jerking forward. hes thick in your hand, impossibly so, and you stroke him slowly, marveling at the size of him.

"careful, doll," he grits out, but hes smirking, clearly loving the attention. "been dreaming about this for too long. wont last if you keep that up. especially not with your pretty little hands on me like that."

"sorry," you whisper, pulling your hand back.

"no," he says, catching your wrist. "dont be sorry. touch me. i want you to touch me. just... go slow. gotta get you ready first. dont want to hurt you."

you wrap your hand around him again, stroking slowly, watching his face. he groans, his eyes falling closed, that purr rumbling in his chest.

"thats it," he breathes. "just like that, baby. youre doing so good."

he lets you explore for a few minutes, his hips rocking into your touch, his breath coming faster. then he gently removes your hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss your palm.

"lay back," he says softly. "spread your legs for me, angel. let me see you."

you do as he says, lying back against your pillows, your thighs falling open. he kneels between them, his hands sliding up your legs, his thumbs hooking in your panties. he drags them down slowly, his eyes locked on yours, and tosses them aside.

"beautiful," he murmurs, his gaze dropping to your most intimate place. "so beautiful. so perfect. youre wet for me, arent you, doll? wet and ready?"

"yes," you whimper, your face flaming. "please, riki. please touch me."

"im going to do more than touch you," he says, his voice rough. he lowers his head, his tongue dragging up your center, and you cry out, your back bowing off the bed. he eats you like hes starving, his tongue circling your clit, his fingers pressing inside you, curling to find that spot that makes you see stars. he adds another finger, stretching you, preparing you for his size.

"riki, riki, please," you chant, your hands fisting in his hair, your hips rolling against his mouth.

"you taste so sweet," he murmurs against you, the vibration making you gasp. "just like i knew you would. my little angel. my pretty doll. my perfect baby."

he keeps going, his fingers pumping in and out of you, his tongue relentless, until youre teetering on the edge, your whole body trembling. "gonna come," you warn, your voice high and breathy.

"come for me," he commands, his fingers curling harder, his tongue flicking faster. "come on my tongue, doll. let me taste you. give it to me, sweetheart."

you shatter, crying out his name as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. he doesnt stop, working you through it, his mouth gentling as you come down, his hands stroking your thighs, your hips, anywhere he can reach.

when you finally go limp, he crawls up your body, kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. "good girl," he whispers. "so good for me. you did so good, baby. now youre ready for me. ready to take all of me."

"please," you whimper, your hands tugging at his shoulders. "please, riki. i need you inside me. please."

he reaches over the side of the bed, grabbing his jeans and pulling out his wallet. he extracts a foil packet, tearing it open with his teeth, and you watch, fascinated, as he rolls the condom down his length. even sheathed, he looks massive, and a flutter of nervousness goes through you.

"you sure?" he asks, positioning himself between your thighs, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance. "tell me if it hurts. well stop. we can stop anytime, okay?"

"i dont want to stop," you say, wrapping your legs around his waist. "i want you. please."

he pushes in slowly, inch by inch, giving you time to adjust to the stretch. hes big, so big, filling you up until you feel like you might split apart. you gasp, your nails digging into his back, and he pauses, his jaw clenched, sweat beading on his forehead.

"okay?" he asks, his voice strained. "fuck, youre tight. so fucking tight around me, doll."

"yes," you breathe. "dont stop. please dont stop. youre so big, riki..."

"i know," he says, that cocky smirk back on his face. "feels good though, doesnt it? feels good to be stretched out on my cock? tell me how it feels, baby. tell me how big i am inside you."

"so big," you whimper, your head falling back. "youre so big. i can feel you everywhere."

"thats right," he groans, starting to move. "gonna make you take it all. gonna fuck you so good you forget your own name."

he starts moving, slow thrusts that gradually speed up as you relax around him. he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, changing the angle, and you moan, your head falling back against the pillow.

"there?" he asks, his voice rough.

"there," you confirm, your hands gripping his arms. "right there, riki. harder. please, harder."

he obliges, his hips snapping forward, driving into you with force that makes the bed creak. the room fills with the sounds of skin on skin, your moans, his grunts, the wet slide of him moving inside you. he makes that low purring growl with every thrust, the sound rumbling in his chest like a puma claiming its mate.

"you feel so good," he groans, his forehead dropping to yours. "so tight. so perfect. fuck, y/n. been dreaming about this. about you. my pretty little doll. my sweet angel. you taking my cock so good, baby. look at you. look how well you take me."

his hand finds your throat, his fingers wrapping around the column of your neck, not squeezing, just holding, and you gasp, your inner muscles fluttering around him.

"like that?" he asks, his thumb stroking your pulse point. "you like my hand here, baby?"

"yes," you whimper, the feeling of being held, being controlled, sending sparks of pleasure through you. "please. a little tighter, please."

his fingers tighten, just enough to restrict your airflow, and the world narrows to the point where hes touching you, where hes inside you, where hes holding you. you feel safe, cherished, owned. he growls, low and possessive, the sound vibrating through both of you.

"youre mine," he growls, his thrusts becoming erratic, losing their rhythm. "this tight little pussy is mine now. say it. say youre mine, doll. say you belong to me."

"i'm yours," you gasp, your second orgasm building fast, coiling tight in your belly. "riki, i'm yours. please. please, i need to come. please let me come."

"come with me," he demands, his hand tightening just a fraction more. he makes that purring sound again, deep and constant now, like a cat thats found its favorite spot. "come on my cock, baby. now. squeeze me tight. let me feel you."

you explode, your vision whiting out, your whole body convulsing around him. he keeps fucking you through it, his hand finally leaving your throat to grip your hip, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. he thrusts twice more, three times, and then hes coming too, his head thrown back, a growl tearing from his throat as he spills into the condom.

he collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his breath hot and fast against your neck. for a long moment, neither of you moves, the only sound your ragged breathing and the distant thump of the party downstairs.

"are you okay?" he finally asks, his voice muffled against your skin. he lifts his head, his eyes searching yours. "did i hurt you? was i too rough?"

"no," you say, your voice hoarse. you touch your throat, feeling the phantom pressure of his fingers. "that was... that was perfect. you were perfect."

he smiles, soft and sweet, and presses a kiss to your forehead. he purrs, low and content, nuzzling against your neck. "good," he murmurs. "thats good, angel. you did so good for me. took me so well. my good girl."

he pulls out carefully, tying off the condom and tossing it in the trash can by your desk. he finds his boxers and pulls them on, then grabs your discarded costume, using the soft fabric to gently clean between your thighs. you blush, trying to close your legs, but he tsks, his hands gentle but firm.

"let me take care of you," he says softly. "you did so good for me. let me make you feel good after. thats my job, isnt it? taking care of my girl?"

when hes finished, he tucks you into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin. he finds your discarded halo on the floor and places it on your nightstand, then sits on the edge of your bed, his hand stroking your hair.

"you should sleep," he says quietly. "youve had a long night."

"are you leaving?" you ask, your heart sinking.

"i should," he says, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. "jay will notice im gone. hell ask questions. i should go back down, make an appearance, then slip out."

your heart sinks. "no," you say, reaching out to grab his hand. "please. dont go. stay with me. i dont want to be alone."

"y/n," he sighs, his expression conflicted. "baby, i cant. your brother will..."

"please," you whisper, and your voice cracks, tears suddenly pricking at your eyes. the alcohol and the weed and the aftershocks of your orgasm have left you raw, vulnerable. "please, riki. i dont want to be alone. please stay. just until i fall asleep. please."

he stares at you, his jaw working, his hand tightening on yours. he makes a low sound, almost a whine, conflicted and wanting. "fuck," he mutters under his breath, his eyes closing. "fuck. youre killing me, you know that?"

"please," you whisper again, a tear slipping down your cheek.

he opens his eyes, and the look in them is so tender, so full of longing, that it takes your breath away. "ill just tell your brother you were tipsy and couldnt sleep alone," he mumbles, more to himself than to you. "hell understand. he has to understand."

he stands, pulling back the covers and climbing in beside you. you immediately curl into him, your head on his chest, your arm draped over his waist. he wraps his arms around you, holding you close, his chin resting on top of your head. he purrs, low and steady, the vibration rumbling through his chest against your ear.

"thank you," you whisper, your eyes already drifting shut.

"anything for you, angel," he murmurs, his hand stroking slow circles on your back. the purring continues, a constant rumble of contentment. "anything for my girl. go to sleep now. ive got you. im right here."

"promise?" you mumble, your voice thick with sleep.

"promise," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your hair. he growls softly, possessive and satisfied. "im not going anywhere. ill be here when you wake up. i promise."

you drift off to the sound of his heartbeat and his purring, safe in his arms, dreaming of halos and hands around your throat and a boy who finally made you his. the party rages on downstairs, but up here, in your little room, with riki holding you close, youve never felt more at home.

⋆˚✿˖°

an ✧˖°. soo.... howd we like it :) I LOVEDDD WRITING THISSS, i love me a good party setting lol. reblogs are always welcome!!! feedback is also greatly appreciated. if you enjoyed this story and would like to see something specific, dont be afraid to send an ask! :)

[nishivm]

UH OH [니키]

┃where in you accidentally send a photo that was meant for your sneaky link to your best friends brother.

best friends brother!niki x f!reader

warnings: suggestive images, sex implied, betrayal, y/n is a bad friend, niki is an asshole at the end.

1 , 2

[matzism]

MAKE U CUM .ᐟ

product details: since your roommate saw you that night, nothing has been the same for him.

warnings labels. . . explicit content (mdni), friends to lovers, masturbation, mentions of pillow humping, oral (f!receiving), fingering, edging, unprotected sex, praise.

featured employees: roommate!niki x fem!reader

staff notes: consider this part two of peeping riki? also, to the person who sent the req , it’s nearly done — just wanted to get this out real quick ♡⸝⸝

niki felt like he was going insane.

ever since he saw you that night, the only thing that filled his mind was the sounds of your moans and the way his name sounded slipping from your mouth.

he’d zone out whenever you said his name, tense up if you sat too close to him on the couch, and practically lose it whenever you touched him—accident or not.

it had gotten so bad to the point he couldn’t even shower without fisting himself there. one hand resting on the cold tiles while the other wrapped around his dick as he pictured that night all over again.

and even now, when he should’ve been asleep or doing literally anything else, he was in bed, pillow folded around his dick, slamming his hips into it. wishing and needing it to be you instead.

“fuck…” he shuddered, lazily lifting his hips into the pillow, building that pressure again.

he was almost there, on the brink of cumming again when a knock sounded at his door.

“niki? you in there?”

fuck.

“yeah, shit, just give me a second!” he called out, tripping over his blanket while trying to pull his shorts up. “i’ll be right there.”

you weren’t supposed to be home. he was sure that he had the house to himself, that you were supposed to be out on some date.

niki grabbed one of the small air freshener cans he kept in his nightstand and sprayed the room—and himself for safe measures.

he opened the door, his chest heaving as sweat beaded on his forehead, hands slightly shaking. he had his body angled to cover the scene behind him.

“hey…” he ran his fingers through his hair. "everything alright?"

“yeah, wanna watch a movie?” you asked, eyes tracing him up and down as if you had a good idea of what he was just doing.

"yeah, sure," he smiled, slipping through the crack of the door and closing it behind him. "but weren't you going somewhere tonight?"

"oh. i got stood up," you said, like it meant nothing.

inside the living room, the tv was already paused on a random movie, while the dim red hue from the led lights—that desperately needed replacing—in the kitchen, filled the space.

niki sat down next to you, his arm slung over the back of the couch, fingertips brushing your arm. you leaned into his touch, settling in his arms.

the movie started and everything seemed to be going fine, at least on your end it was. for niki, it was slowly becoming hell, because the tent growing in his pants was noticeable.

he tried to shift away from you, sit up a little bit, just enough to cover up but you wouldn’t move. instead, you moved closer to him, sinking your body into the cushions. your thigh was pressed against his.

he was doing it to himself at this point. the fabric of his shorts were thin enough that he could feel the heat from your skin and it was driving him mad.

niki froze, his breath catching in his throat.

you suddenly froze, and he started wishing he could just hide. you felt him tense, your eyes darting from his lap up to his face.

"...niki, are you okay?" you whispered, your voice trailing off once you realized what was going on.

before you knew it, his lips were on yours, hands cupping your face as he pressed his body against yours. he waited damn near two weeks to do this. to kiss you, to have his hands all over you.

niki’s hands traveled down your body, one hand slipping under your shirt, the palm of his hand hot against your skin. “please,” he muttered against your lips.

you nodded, helping him lift your shirt. he pressed a kiss against the corner of your lips, down to your chest, lingering there before lowering himself between your legs. niki hooked his fingers into the waistband of your jeans. he didn’t waste a second, dragging them down your legs and carelessly tossing them onto the ground.

his hands were wrapped around your thighs, pushing them back to give himself a good view of your already flushed and soaked pussy.

“all this for me, baby?” he asked, dragging a finger down your folds before he leaned forward. his tongue traced slow along your folds, before inserting two fingers. his mouth worked skillfully, focusing on your clit, fingers curling just right.

“niki- wait.. fuck,” you breathed, moving your hand to cover your mouth as your head fell back against the armrest.

embarrassingly enough, you were about to cum already. your fingering treaded through his hair, grabbing a handful of his hair as your hips rolled against his tongue. before you could have that release, he pulled back his tongue and stilled his fingers.

you let out a whined, needy gasp, eyes snapping open to look down at him. "...why did you stop?"

he looked up at you, his gaze hungry and full of desire. "i need to feel you around me," he whispered, rising to his knees, the cushion dipping beneath him. he pushed down his shorts, his dick already hard and leaking.

his hands slid under your knees, pushing them back until they reached your chest. he pushed inside you slowly and started moving. it was slow at first like he was allowing you to adapt to him but that didn't last too long.

"fuck- you feel so good," he groaned, his hips snapping into yours. he leaned down, catching your lips in a kiss before pulling back again. "c'mon.. let me hear you, baby."

all you could do is moan, your walls clenching around him as your nails clutch at his shirt. niki placed his thumb in your mouth, pulling out until only the tip was inside before slamming his hips again. "let hear me that pretty voice like last time."

"niki... shit, i'm gonna-" you gasped, the pleasure pooling in your stomach, not even registering what he said. "don't," you choked out, voice trembling. "don't stop. please."

niki picked up his pace, using his thumb to circle your clit. "you sound so good like this... so fucking pretty," he took one deep thrust, burying himself as deep as he can inside you.

"cum for me, baby. i got you... let go," he breathed, pulling back before doing another deep thrust, then another and another one. until you let out a silent cry, trying to catch your breath.

it didn't take long for your orgasm to hit. it shot through you, leaving your legs shaking, clenching around niki. he started to slow down once his own orgasm hit, his chest heaving.

he leaned down one final time, burying himself in your shoulder and let out a shaky breath. still inside you on that cramped couch.

staff notes: “what’s your favorite curse word?” “probably fuck,” that video was all i could think abt while editing bro 💀🫩

# | store disclaimer: all work is fictional and is not a real depiction of our staff outside the store !

[enhavip]

WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?

// nishimurariki x !innocent reader, crack, fluff, use of baby and honey, nsfw texts, nsfw photo.

anon request!

taglist: @mandmilovehim @starjoongie @writtenbyyoongi @mystgene @acute4ngel @acelqvr @nikiunleashme

[hoonguin]

꒰﹕﹒ i lawb you ❀ nishimura riki

⌗ in which . . . you’re assigned to capture a notorious mafia leader, only to discover that he’s your former lover — nishimura riki

流星 ໑ . .  mafialeader!riki x femdetective!reader

⌗ includes . . . smut (18+), strong language, power imbalance, moral conflict, possessive behavior, professional conduct, unresolved feelings, ex-lovers to whatever that was, riki talks you through it 🤤 overstimulation, cockwarming, creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), oral sex (m. receiving), rough sex, multiple orgasms, power play, car sex, praise kink, light degradation, size kink, use of restraints ➜ mdni ! or do.. it's up to you ♡ purely a work of fiction, none of this is real | wc: 10.2k

♪ el’s bubble: president el just wanted to share with the class that this piece was made with a loooot of love (she had way too much time and too many ideas) 🙏 spent at least three days working through this but we made it out of the woods ! i genuinely couldn’t stop thinking about him in melbourne and this one specific clip of him i saw on tiktok so yeah . . this was a request by anon, so thanks a bunch anon 😛 please enjoy — likes, reblogs, and feedbacks are deeply appreciated on here ♡ requests are always open if you want to see me write something specific ۫ ׅ

໑ part 1 | part 2.1 | part 2.2

tags: @wonscapes @simsimluver @maishee @grdientlips @kristynaaah @psychicdazestrawberry | just ask if you want to be a part of my tag list ˙𐃷˙

now playing . . . often by the weeknd

"What the hell? This is the guy we have to somehow magically put in handcuffs?"

You groan out, frustration evident in your voice as your thumb and index finger press firmly against the bridge of your nose, massaging the tension that has been building there since the start of this meeting. 

Your chair creaks beneath you as you sink back into it, the leather cool against your back, though it does nothing to ease the knot forming in your stomach.

The room goes dead silent for a long, agonizing moment. 

The only sound that fills the space is the faint, rhythmic hum of the air conditioner, its steady drone doing little to calm the storm of thoughts racing through your mind. 

The cool toned lights above seem to buzz just a little louder in the quiet, and you can feel the weight of every pair of eyes in the room on you, waiting for you to say something else, to react, to do anything other than sit there in stunned disbelief.

"Well, he's sort of the ringleader of the mafia that's been terrorizing people on the other side of the city, so yes — that's the guy we have to catch," your coworker says, their tone far too casual for the gravity of what they've just dropped on your desk. 

They take another bite into their ube flavored macaron, the crumbs dusting the corner of their mouth as they chew, oblivious to the way your entire world has just tilted on its axis.

In front of you, sitting right there on your desk, is a photograph of a man — the same man you're supposed to somehow catch, apprehend, and put behind bars. 

The same man who, according to the file beneath the photo, has been orchestrating a web of crime so intricate that the department has been chasing ghosts for nearly three years.

You stare at the picture for a long, long time. Your eyes trace every detail, every line and shadow captured in the image, as if staring at it long enough might reveal some hidden truth, some sign that this is all just an elaborate mistake.

The man in the photograph seems to be around six feet tall, though it's hard to tell exact height from a picture alone. 

His hair is a striking mix of brown and blonde, though it leans closer to blond, the kind of hair that probably catches the sunlight in a way that makes people turn their heads without meaning to. 

He has a tall, elegant nose bridge, lips that are a pretty shade of pink, slightly curved in a way that suggests he might have been caught mid-thought, or perhaps mid-sentence. 

His eyes, oh, his eyes — his eyes are the same shape, the same dark brown, the same intensity that once made your heart race for entirely different reasons.

Nishimura Riki.

The name sits heavy on your tongue, bitter and sweet all at once. 

You remember how it used to feel to say it, whispered in quiet moments, laughed over shared jokes, cried into pillows when everything fell apart.

Fuck. 

Who would've ever thought your ex from back in the day, the same boy who used to trip over his own feet, who had the dorkiest laugh you'd ever heard, who held your hand like it was something precious, would become the most feared mafia leader in the city? 

That the same hands that once traced hearts on your skin would now be stained with the kind of darkness you've spent your entire career fighting against?

The thought of it alone felt incredibly absurd. 

After what felt like an entire millennium, each second stretching into an eternity as the photograph burned itself into your memory, you finally let out a long, breathy sigh. 

It escapes your lips slowly and deliberately. Your shoulders drop just slightly, the tension in your body shifting rather than just disappearing entirely.

"Okay, then," you say, your voice steadier than you feel. "So when do we plan to start our operations in catching this guy?"

Your fingers tap rapidly against your desk, a nervous habit you've never quite managed to shake. The rhythmic tap-tap-tap of your nails against the wood fills the silence between your words.

"If I were to suggest," your coworker begins, setting down what remains of their macaron and wiping the corner of their mouth with a napkin, "we could start this evening, maybe at around six? From the insights I've gathered from Mrs. Yoon's department, there's a high possibility they're just hanging around at the abandoned bread factory just a few turns away from the main highway. It's been one of their known spots for… well, gatherings."

You nod slowly, processing the information, already mentally mapping out the route in your head. You know that factory, or at least, you know of it. 

Everyone does. It's been decommissioned for years, a crumbling skeleton of what was once a thriving business, now reduced to nothing more than a ghost of the past.

"Then so be it, we'll start tonight. I'll come along—"

Your words hang in the air for barely a second before another voice cuts through, sharp and insistent.

"Wait, no, it's fine if you don't head out with us." One of the senior officers shifts in their seat, their expression a careful mask of concern disguised as professionalism. "We heard Mr. Nishimura is a very dangerous figure to be around. His reputation precedes him, and frankly, we don't know what we're walking into. It would be safer if—"

A beat.

The room falls silent again, the weight of unsaid words pressing down on everyone present. You can see the way your coworkers exchange glances, the subtle raise of eyebrows, the barely perceptible shake of heads. 

They know, or at least, they suspect, that there's more to your investment in this case than professional duty.

"I can manage," you say, cutting through their hesitation like a blade. Your voice is calm, measured, but there's an edge beneath the surface that wasn't there before. "I believe I've encountered people worse than him."

The lie slides off your tongue easily, smoothly. 

Have you encountered worse? 

Perhaps. 

But none of them wore the face of someone you once loved. None of them had hands that once wiped your tears, or a voice that once whispered promises of forever.

"But—"

"Nothing can change my mind. I will come along." You say it firmly this time, leaving no room for argument, your hand already reaching out for the mug of hot coffee sitting by your desk. 

The ceramic is warm against your palm and you take a slow sip, letting the bitterness coat your tongue as your coworkers exchange one final look.

After a moment, they nod, a reluctant acceptance of a battle they know they won't win. 

They've worked with you long enough to recognize the set of your jaw, the steel in your eyes. 

You're definitely not backing down.

After a quick exchange of additional reminders, meeting points, squad arrangements, who will take point, which vehicles to use, the chain of command, you wave off your coworkers, watching them gather their things and file toward the door of your office. 

Their footsteps echo against the linoleum, a steady march of duty and obligation, until the last of them disappears beyond the frame.

Then, complete silence.

After everyone has left, you still can't shrug it off. 

The feeling sits heavy in your chest, a heavy rock dragging you down into depths you thought you'd escaped years ago. 

Your college sweetheart, the boy who used to sneak you notes folded into tiny paper stars, who would wait by your dorm every morning with a smile that could melt glaciers, who held you when your world felt like it was crumbling, is now one of the most wanted criminals out there.

The irony isn't lost on you. The universe, it seems, just has a cruel sense of humor.

You take another sip of your coffee, staring down at the photograph still sitting on your desk. Riki's eyes seem to stare back at you, and for a moment, you swear you can see the ghost of the boy he used to be hiding somewhere in those depths.

God damn it, Nishimura Riki.

The cold wind of the evening hits you without warning, an invisible force that seems to have been lying in wait just for this moment. 

It whips across your face with a vengeance, sending strands of your hair flying directly into your eyes and mouth, effectively undoing the careful lip stain you had applied just moments ago in the car mirror. 

And frankly, it felt like the universe was already setting the tone for how the rest of this night was going to go.

You sputter, spitting out a strand of hair that had the audacity to stick to your freshly painted lips, and swipe at your face in frustration.

It was annoying, to say the least. 

The car driven by your colleague has run out of gas — a fact that became painfully obvious when the engine sputtered, coughed, and died an unceremonious death on the side of a road that felt far too deserted for comfort. 

In this economy, with inflation rates climbing higher than your patience has been dipping, you'd probably spend more trying to get a tow truck out here rather than just buying a few liters of gas and calling it a learning experience. 

In short, you and two more colleagues are stranded by the side of the road, surrounded by nothing but empty fields and the distant glow of city lights that feel impossibly far away.

Of course, your other workmates are aware of the situation, the department's group chat has been blowing up with a chaotic mixture of concern, directions, and at least three different people offering to bring gas. 

They're sending as much help as they can to get that car fueled up again, but with it being rush hour on a Friday evening, it'd take them a really, agonizingly long time. 

The traffic in this city is notorious, a living creature that swallows cars whole and spits them out whenever it damn well pleases.

"Why the fuck would you not fuel this bad boy up before heading out?" one of your colleagues asks, their tone caught somewhere between genuine frustration and barely suppressed amusement. 

They're trying so hard not to giggle at the absurdity of it all, a squad of trained professionals stranded on the side of the road like a bunch of teenagers on a road trip gone wrong.

"I didn't expect it to be that far," the driver shoots back, defensive, their hands gesturing wildly at the empty road ahead as if distance itself had personally betrayed them.

"You've been here multiple times," the first one counters, raising an eyebrow.

"My point still stands," the driver mutters, already pulling out their phone, navigating through the screen with practiced fingers until they find the flashlight switch. The bright beam cuts through the growing darkness, casting long shadows against the tall grass that lines either side of the road.

So what did you guys decide to do? 

After a brief, somewhat heated discussion that involved a lot of pointing at maps and debating the merits of waiting versus walking, the three of you decided to just walk to the factory. 

The idea being that it'd probably be better that way, because god knows what worse situations the car could get into aside from losing gasoline. A flat tire? Engine failure? Getting towed by some overzealous parking enforcement despite being very much parked legally on a public road? With your luck tonight, anything was possible.

A blessing in disguise, definitely. Or at least, that's what you keep telling yourself.

The factory is only an eight-minute walk away according to Google Maps, which your colleague optimistically announces while conveniently ignoring the "approximately" that usually means "longer than you think." 

To add more fuel to the fire, you guys are apparently going to be the first people to arrive there too. 

All of the other cars got separated back in the city due to the hectic traffic and busted stoplights that would flash red a few seconds too early, trapping cars in intersections and creating a domino effect of chaos that spread through every major street. 

By some cosmic joke, you three had to just be there first.

Perfect. So, so perfect. 

You could practically hear the universe laughing at you. 

The walk to the factory itself was pretty quick, maybe because you got stranded with your colleagues who were both awarded "Clown of the Year" during last year's Christmas party — a title they wore with immense pride. 

Their constant bickering, terrible jokes, and off-key humming made the eerily silent and dark walk to the factory an incredibly funny one, despite the circumstances. 

One of them kept making shadow puppets with their flashlight while the other narrated a dramatic nature documentary about "the wild detective in its natural habitat." 

It was stupid, childish even, but it kept the creeping anxiety at bay.

Finally, after about a while and two LANY songs later, one playing from someone's phone speaker, muffled by the wind but recognizable nonetheless, you arrive at the outside of the factory.

The structure looms ahead, a massive silhouette against the darkening sky. 

What was once a thriving bread factory now stands as a skeleton of industrial ambition, its windows either broken or boarded up, its walls covered in graffiti that you can barely make out in the fading light. 

But there's something else — something that makes you pause and crouch low, pulling your colleagues down with you.

You could confirm that there are people here. Even hidden behind really tall grass that reaches well above your waist, you could see the view really well. 

Years of training have taught you how to observe without being observed, how to take in details while remaining invisible.

There are two bodyguards seated by the entrance, their postures relaxed but alert, cigarettes glowing orange in the darkness as they take drags in between conversation. 

They're dressed in dark clothing, nearly blending into the shadows if not for the faint light spilling from inside the factory.

"Jeez, who hired those two to be by the entrance," a colleague of yours whispers, a sheepish grin tugging at the corners of their mouth. 

You can see them gesturing toward the guards, clearly amused by something, their posture, their expressions, maybe just the concept of them hanging by an abandoned bread factory. 

They nudge your shoulder, and you immediately nudge them back, harder, your eyes narrowing in warning, indicating for them to keep their voices down.

The place was well-lit with what seemed to be newly bought light bulbs, their brightness almost harsh against the abandoned backdrop, and a couple of vintage-style lamps that cast warm pools of yellow across the cracked concrete. 

There were maybe around three black vans parked to the side, their windows tinted so dark they looked like voids. 

And two vehicles near the entrance, one white car and another black car, sleek and expensive-looking even from this distance.

You could see, faintly, that there was a person leaning against the white car. The figure was tall, arms crossed, illuminated just enough by the nearby lamps to reveal the outline of a silhouette.

You couldn't really make out the face, or anything distinguishing. 

Just a shape. 

A presence.

Just as you guys were about to head in, with all equipment ready, earpieces adjusted, weapons checked, positions assigned, you feel your phone vibrating in your pocket. 

The buzz is insistent, urgent, and it causes all of you to halt and press yourselves further into the tall grass.

You take it out and see that one of your senior officers is ringing you up. The name flashes on your screen, and you exchange a glance with your colleagues before swiping to answer.

To cut the story short, because the conversation involved a lot of unnecessary explaining and at least four instances of your senior officer crashing out over things that could have been an email, gasoline has arrived, along with a few minor problems you couldn't be bothered to deal with right now. 

Something about one of the other cars getting a flat, another team getting stuck behind a traffic accident, and someone needing backup for a completely unrelated situation.

You ask your coworkers to head back to the car to assist with the gasoline, and check the so-called "minor problems" your senior officer was spiraling over. They hesitate, looking at each other, then back at you.

"Are you sure—" one asks, their voice barely above a whisper.

"Wait, okay, but do you not want to come? It's dark already—" another voice follows, concern lacing their words.

You assure them you'll be fine. You've done solo reconnaissance before. You know how to stay hidden, how to observe without engaging. 

After a few more pointed assurances, a few hesitant nods, and one absolutely wonky handshake that one of them insists on doing "for good luck," they were off, their figures disappearing into the darkness of the tall grass, flashlights bobbing like fireflies in the distance.

Now, it was just you.

The silence feels heavier without their voices to fill it. 

The wind picks up again, rustling the grass around you, and somewhere in the distance, you can hear the faint sound of music coming from inside the factory.

The silence presses against you like a physical weight, and for a moment, all you can hear is the thud of your own heartbeat echoing in your ears. 

You crouch there in the tall grass, hidden from view, trying to gather the scattered pieces of your composure into something that resembles professionalism.

“You can do this,” you tell yourself, the words a familiar mantra that has gotten you through countless operations before this one. You're a trained professional. You've been preparing for this moment for months. Years, even. You know the protocols. You know the risks. You know what's at stake.

But another voice, smaller, quieter, buried somewhere deep in the recesses of your mind where you keep all the things you don't want to acknowledge, whispers back: You will never be prepared for him.

You shake your head, dispelling the thought like a fly you're trying to swat away. Now is not the time to get sentimental. 

Now is not the time to think about paper rings folded from notebook pages, or locker notes written in his messy scrawl, or lazy afternoons spent tangled together on the couch with your fingers tracing patterns on his biceps. 

Now is the time to do your job.

With a steadying breath that does nothing to calm the storm inside your chest, you decide to make your move.

Creeping forward through the grass, you keep your body low, your movements calculated and precise.

Years of training have taught you how to move like a ghost, how to become invisible even in broad daylight. 

The tall blades whisper against your clothing, a soft rustling that sounds impossibly loud in the quiet of the night. 

Every few steps, you pause, listening, watching, making sure you haven't been detected.

Miraculously, and you're not sure whether to be relieved or suspicious, the bodyguards aren't at their posts anymore. The entrance stands unguarded, a gaping mouth of light spilling out onto the cracked concrete. 

Either they've moved inside, or something has drawn their attention elsewhere. 

Either way, it's an opportunity. A gift, perhaps, from whatever higher power has been toying with your fate tonight.

You consider making your way inside. The logical part of your brain, the part trained for tactical assessment, urges you forward. But something holds you back. The interior looks vast, open, with too many corners and shadows where someone could be hiding, too many blind spots where you could be cornered. 

For someone with your smaller frame, it's a risk, you've learned the hard way that being underestimated works both ways. 

It can be an advantage, yes, but it can also make you vulnerable.

Not yet, you decide, your mind already mapping out contingencies. 

Gather intel first. Know the terrain. Count your exits.

Instead, you redirect your attention to the vehicles parked outside.

Moving with purpose, you make your way toward the three black vans first. 

They're utilitarian, unremarkable, the kind of vehicles that could belong to any delivery company or construction crew. 

You note their positions, their license plates, the fact that one of them has a small dent on the rear bumper. Details that might mean nothing, or everything.

Then you move toward the two cars, the black one and the white one parked closer to the entrance. 

The black car is sleek, expensive, the kind of vehicle that screams money and power. The white one is equally impressive, though slightly more understated in its elegance, its paint catching the moonlight in a way that almost makes it glow.

You're cataloging these details in your mind, positions, makes, models, potential for pursuit or escape, when a voice cuts through the night like a blade through silk.

"Hey, sexy."

You freeze.

It's not the word that stops you cold, though you'd be lying if you said it didn't catch you off guard. 

No, it's the voice itself, the timber, the slight lilt at the end that turns what should be a cringeworthy pickup line into something almost fond. Something that sounds dangerously like the past echoing into the present, like a melody you thought you'd forgotten how to play.

Your heart slams against your ribs, once, twice, three times, as you slowly, carefully, turn around.

And there he is.

Riki stands before you, illuminated by the dim glow of the nearby lamps, looking nothing like the monster the department has painted him to be and everything like the boy who once held your heart in his hands. 

He's wearing beige cargo pants that are definitely a few sizes larger than his usual fit, hanging low on his hips in a way that speaks of comfort rather than style. A black belt cinches them at the waist, a grey shirt stretches across his chest, and a black jacket hangs open over it all.

You wouldn't expect to see that from someone who's been labeled as one of the most dangerous mafia leaders in the city. 

He looks so dang normal. 

Casual. 

He could be any other guy you passed on the street, someone you wouldn't look twice at.

Except you would. You'd look at him a thousand times over. You'd memorize every angle of his face, every shadow and highlight, every detail you thought you'd forgotten but had only buried away in the deepest corners of your memory.

He's looking at you the same way.

"What the fuck are you doing out here, Riki?"

The words spill out before you can stop them, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. 

You've said his name a thousand times before, but saying it now, in this context, feels like crossing a line you can't uncross.

But you can't take it back. 

You don't want to.

Riki's lips curl into a smile, and it's the same smile that used to make your heart do somersaults back in college. 

The same smile that greeted you every morning by your locker with a cup of your favorite hot cocoa with extra marshmallows. The same smile that broke your heart when everything fell apart. 

There's something else there now, something softer, more vulnerable, that he's trying and failing to hide behind his casual demeanor.

"One of my goons informed us that law enforcement would possibly come out and get our asses tonight," he says, his voice carrying that familiar playful edge even as his eyes remain fixed on your face, drinking you in like you're the first drop of water he's seen in a desert. "Presented a whole list of the officers that may be involved too. Saw your name at the top of the list, and thought..."

He pauses, and for a moment, the mask slips. 

You see it, the way his breath hitches almost imperceptibly, the way his fingers twitch at his sides like he's fighting the urge to reach for you.

"I wanted to see you for myself," he finishes, quieter now. "Needed to. Even if it was just from a distance. Even if you'd never know I was there."

Your breath catches in your throat, a small hitch that sounds deafening in the quiet night. 

You don't really know what to say to that, to the implication that he's been keeping track of you, that your name on a list was enough to make him drop everything. 

That he needed to see you the same way you've been needing to see him, even if you couldn't admit it until this very moment.

And god, he's so handsome. 

Even more handsome than your Riki back in college, if that's even possible. 

The years have sharpened his features, turned the softness of youth into something more defined, more striking. His jaw is sharper, his shoulders broader, his presence more commanding. 

But beneath all that, beneath the new edges and unfamiliar angles, he's still him. Still the boy who used to buy a ton of pencils and lose them all within a day. Still the boy who used to press kisses to your cheek whenever you were feeling down.

Riki reaches up and pulls off his black shades, revealing the same pair of deep brown eyes you fell in love with all those years ago. 

They're the same, and yet different — there's something harder in them now, something that speaks of experiences you can only imagine, of choices and consequences that have shaped him into someone new.

Underneath all the hardness, beneath the walls he's clearly built around himself, you can still see it: the warmth. The tenderness. The way he's looking at you like you're the only real thing in a world full of shadows.

The realization hits you like a physical force: He's still in love with you.

"Are you not here with anyone?" he asks, and there's genuine concern in his voice, a protectiveness that makes your chest ache with the weight of everything unsaid between you. 

His brow furrows slightly, creating a small crease between his eyebrows that you remember used to appear whenever he was worried about something. "Why are you alone? That's dangerous. You shouldn't be out here by yourself."

A few problems, you want to say. Just sent them back a bit to check on things.

The words get stuck somewhere between your brain and your mouth, because he's stepping closer now, closing the distance you didn't realize you'd been maintaining. 

His scent washes over you, something warm and woody with notes of vanilla underneath, different from what he used to wear but somehow still very him, and you feel your resolve crumbling like sand in a rising tide.

"A few problems," you finally manage, your voice coming out steadier than you feel. "Just sent them back a bit to check on things."

Without even realizing it, you feel yourself lowering your guard. It's instinctive, unconscious, something about being in his presence makes you forget, just for a moment, that you're supposed to be enemies. 

That he's supposed to be your target. 

That the department is probably already on their way, and when they arrive, they'll expect you to have him in handcuffs.

But right now, handcuffs are the last thing on your mind.

He looks at you, really looks at you, and there's something in his gaze that makes your skin prickle with awareness. 

His eyes travel over your face like he's trying to memorize you all over again, cataloging every change, every detail he might have missed.

"You cut your hair," he murmurs, almost to himself. "It looks good. Really good."

The observation catches you off guard, that he cared enough to store that detail away. 

Your hand unconsciously moves to touch the ends of your hair, a nervous habit you've never been able to break.

"You remember how it used to be," you say, and it comes out almost accusatory, like you're angry at him for holding onto memories you've been trying to forget.

"I remember everything," he says quietly. "Every single thing."

The weight of those words settles between you like a physical presence, heavy with all the things neither of you is saying.

Then his expression shifts, and there's a glint in his eye that you recognize all too well, the same stupid mischievous sparkle that used to precede every terrible joke, every playful tease, every moment that made you fall harder than you ever thought possible.

"Aw," he says, his voice dripping with that familiar teasing lilt. "So you stayed back to see me personally?"

"Definitely not," you shoot back, the denial automatic, instantaneous, a reflex developed over years of pretending you didn't care.

But the words taste like a lie on your tongue, and judging by the knowing look in his eyes, he can taste it too.

"You're a terrible liar," he says softly. "You always have been. Your nose does this little scrunch thing when you're not being honest."

Your hand flies to your nose instinctively, and he laughs, actually laughs, the sound warm and genuine and so achingly familiar that it makes your heart physically hurt.

"There it is," he says, his smile softening into something almost tender. "God, I missed that."

The admission hangs in the air between you, raw and honest in a way that neither of you expected.

Riki runs a hand through his hair, a gesture so achingly familiar that it makes your chest constrict. 

The movement causes his grey shirt to ride up just slightly, revealing a strip of skin and the waistband of red boxers underneath his low-hanging cargo pants.

You couldn't help but look.

It's involuntary, a flicker of your eyes that lasts barely a second, but it's enough. Heat creeps up your neck, spreading across your cheeks, and you quickly avert your gaze, pretending you were focused on something, anything, else. 

The ground. The sky. The distant lights of the factory. Literally anything.

But when you look back at him, there's a knowing look in his eyes, a darkness that has nothing to do with the night around you. 

He caught exactly what you were doing, and more importantly — he liked it.

"See something you like?" he asks, his voice lower now, rougher around the edges.

"I—what, no, that's not —" you stammer, and you hate how flustered you sound, how easily he can unravel you with just a few words.

He doesn't push it further. 

Instead, he steps closer, and this time, there's no mistaking the intention in his movement. 

Every step is deliberate, measured, closing the distance between you like he's approaching something precious and terrifying all at once.

Your body tenses, every instinct screaming at you to step back, to maintain the distance that keeps you safe.

You stay rooted in place, caught in the gravity of his presence like a planet unable to escape its sun. 

You don't want to move. 

You don't want to run.

You want him closer.

Riki stops when he's close enough that you can count the individual lashes framing those deep brown eyes. 

Close enough that you can see the slight part of his lips, the way his breathing has gone shallow, the way his composure is cracking just as much as yours.

"You know, you have absolutely no idea," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, "how many times I've thought about this moment. How many nights I've lain awake wondering what I'd say if I ever saw you again."

"And what did you come up with?" you ask, your voice equally quiet, equally raw.

He shakes his head slowly, a rueful smile playing at his lips. "Nothing. Actually, every word I practiced just immediately disappears when you're actually in front of me."

The confession sends a shiver down your spine, and you realize with sudden clarity that you're not the only one who's been holding onto this. 

You're not the only one who's been haunted by what-ifs and might-have-beens.

He's been just as affected. Just as unable to let go.

Without a word, he reaches out and wraps his hand around your wrist.

His touch is warm, firm, but not tight enough to hurt. It's a gesture of connection rather than restraint, and the feeling of his skin against yours, even just this small point of contact, sends electricity racing through your veins. 

Your pulse jumps beneath his fingers, and you know he can feel it. You know he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

"Riki, what the hell are you doing—" Your voice comes out breathier than intended, more plea than protest. "Let go."

Even as the words leave your mouth, you know you don't mean them. 

You don't want him to let go. 

You want him to hold on tighter.

Judging by the way his grip shifts, adjusting, his thumb brushing across the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, he knows it too.

"No," he says simply, and there's no command in it, no force. Just honesty, just want, laid bare between you. "I've spent years letting you go. I'm done with that."

Your heart stutters in your chest. "Riki..."

"Come on," he interrupts softly, tilting his head toward the white car behind him. "Let's get in my car. Let's have a quick little catch up about life after college."

The suggestion hangs in the air, weighted with implications that none of you want to say.

Catch up could mean a lot of things. 

Conversation. Confession. Something more.

Your mind screams that this is wrong, that you're crossing every line you've ever drawn for yourself, that you're betraying your career, your morals, everything you've worked for. 

He's a criminal. 

A target. 

Someone you're supposed to bring to justice, not follow into the backseat of an expensive car.

But he's also Riki. 

Your Riki. 

The boy who loved you first, and loved you hardest, and maybe, just maybe, never stopped loving you at all.

Your silence stretches too long, and something flickers in his eyes. Uncertainty. Vulnerability. The fear that maybe he's reading this wrong, that maybe you've moved on in ways he hasn't.

"We don't have to," he says quickly, his voice rough. "If you don't want to. I'm not—I would never force you into anything. You know that, right? I just..."

He trails off, and for the first time since he appeared, he looks young. 

Uncertain. 

Like the boy you remember, hiding behind bravado because he never learned how to ask for what he wanted without making it a joke.

He's scared, you realize. He's scared you’ll say no. He's scared this is just a fantasy he's built up in his head, and you’re about to shatter it.

The realization breaks something inside you, whatever walls you'd been holding onto, whatever professional distance you'd been trying to maintain. If he's still scared of losing you after all these years, after everything that's happened...

Then maybe you're not the only one who never moved on.

"Riki," you say, and his name comes out softer than you intend. Your free hand reaches up, almost of its own accord, and brushes a strand of hair from his forehead. 

His eyes flutter closed at the contact, just for a second, like he's been starved for your touch.

When he opens them again, there's something raw and desperate in his gaze.

"I'm not saying no," you whisper.

The words are barely out of your mouth before he's moving, pulling you gently but urgently toward the white car. 

His hand slides from your wrist to intertwine with your fingers, and the intimacy of it, the casual rightness of your hands fitting together like they were made for each other, makes your throat tight.

He opens the back door with his free hand, the other still holding yours like he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go. 

The interior is dark, plush, expensive leather gleaming faintly in the moonlight.

"After you," he murmurs, and there's a hint of his old playfulness in his voice, tempered by something darker, something hungry.

You hesitate for just a moment, one last moment of rationality, one last chance to turn back.

Then you slide into the backseat, pulling him in after you, and the door closes behind you with a soft, definitive click.

The leather is cool beneath you, soft in a way that only expensive things can be. 

For a moment, neither of you moves. The air between you is thick, charged with years of silence finally breaking.

"So," Riki breathes, and you watch his throat work as he swallows. "How have you been?"

The question is so absurdly normal, that a surprised laugh escapes your lips. "Are you serious right now? You're asking me how I've been?"

"What? I want to know." His lips curve into that familiar crooked smile, the one that used to make you agree to every stupid idea he ever had. "It's been what, six years? Seven? I think I'm allowed to ask."

You roll your eyes, but there's no real annoyance behind it. "I've been… pretty good. Very busy. Became a detective, obviously. Got my own office. A plant I keep forgetting to water."

"A plant," he repeats, and there's something warm in his voice. "You? Forgetting to take care of something?"

"Shut it."

"Never." He shifts closer to the driver's seat, his shoulder brushing yours. 

The contact sends warmth spreading through your body. "What about you? Any relationships? Marriage? Kids?"

Your heart stumbles over itself. 

It’s like he's asking if you're available. 

He's asking if you've ever moved on.

"No," you say quietly. "None of that. You?"

The relief that flashes across his face is instantaneous and impossible to miss. "No. Never found anyone who..." He trails off, shaking his head. "No. Just work. Building an empire, I guess." His voice dips lower. "Waiting, mostly."

Waiting for you. 

The unspoken words hang between you.

Before you can respond, the engine purrs to life. Riki leans forward, pressing a button on the dashboard.

"Boss?" a voice crackles through the intercom — one of his men.

"Just heading out for a quick night ride," Riki says smoothly, his eyes never leaving yours. "I need to clear my head. Inform me ASAP when the law enforcement people arrive. I'll be back before then."

"Understood, sir."

The car eases forward, gliding away from the factory and onto the dark road.

You should probably care that your colleagues will arrive to find you missing. 

You should probably worry about the operation, your career, everything you're risking.

But Riki's hand finds yours in the darkness, his thumb tracing patterns on your skin, and suddenly none of that matters.

The road stretches ahead, empty and endless, and you let yourself sink into the warmth beside you.

"So," he murmurs, his voice dropping. "Tell me more about this plant."

The drive is quiet, but not uncomfortable. Streetlights occasionally light up the car, casting golden stripes across Riki's features before plunging you both back into shadow.

"What about your family?" you ask, breaking the silence. "Your sister, the youngest one — what was her name?"

"Sora," he answers, and there's a gentleness in his voice that only ever appears when he speaks about her. "She's good. Graduated top of her class. It makes me look like the family disappointment, honestly."

"I sincerely doubt that."

He chuckles, the sound low and warm, and shifts to face you more fully. The movement brings him closer, his arm stretching along the back of the seat behind you. "You'd be surprised. She's the good one. I'm just, well..."

"The feared mafia leader?" you supply, raising an eyebrow.

"I was going to say 'the hot one,' but sure." His grin is infectious, and you hate how easily he can still make you smile. "Does it bother you? What did I do?"

The question catches you off guard. 

Does it bother you? It definitely should. 

Everything about this should bother you. 

But looking at him now, you don't see a criminal. 

You see Riki. 

Just Riki.

"I don't know," you admit honestly. "Ask me again later."

"I'll hold you to that."

The road curves, and the car takes it smoothly. In the movement, your body sways with the momentum, and suddenly your chest brushes against his extended arm.

The contact is brief, barely a second, but the sharp intake of breath from him is unmistakable. 

Your nipples tighten beneath the thin fabric of your shirt and bra, and you know, with mortifying certainty, that he felt it. 

Surely.

The car suddenly feels too small.

A bit too small for your liking. 

"I’m so, so sorry," you murmur, your voice coming out breathless.

"Don't be." His voice has dropped an interval, rougher now. "I told you, didn't I? I'm done pretending I don't want you."

Your pulse thuds in your veins as his arm shifts behind you, his fingers lightly grazing your shoulder. The touch is feather-light, deliberate, testing.

"Riki..."

"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, his face inches from yours. "Tell me you don't want this, and I'll back off. I'll take you back to your colleagues, and we'll pretend this never happened. But you have to say it."

Your lips part, the words sitting on the tip of your tongue, the responsible words, the professional words.

But they won't come.

Instead, your hand reaches up, your fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket.

"Don't stop," you whisper.

Before you can finish your sentence, Riki's lips crash into yours.

The kiss is desperate, starving, years of longing poured into a single moment. 

His tongue sweeps into your mouth without hesitation, claiming you, tasting you, devouring you like you're oxygen and he's been drowning. 

You melt into him with a whimper, your fingers tangling in his hair and pulling hard enough to make him groan into your mouth.

"Fuck," he growls against your lips, "I've been dreaming about this mouth for years."

He pulls away with a wet sound, breathless, his chest heaving. His eyes are dark, blown wide with want, and when he speaks, his voice is wrecked.

"Back seat now, okay? I need to touch you properly, princess."

Before you can respond, he's already climbing over the console with fluid grace, maneuvering into the spacious back area. 

The car isn't just a regular vehicle — it's something between a luxury sedan and a limousine, with extended seating and room enough for someone his size to move without restriction.

As he settles beside you, his cargo pants ride dangerously low on his hips, and you catch another glimpse of those red boxers peeking above the waistband. 

An unfamiliar heat pools low in your stomach, throbbing and insistent, and you squeeze your thighs together trying to relieve some of the pressure.

Riki notices. 

Of course he does.

"Ah-ah," he tuts, his hand coming to rest on your knee, pushing your legs apart. "Don't hide from me, princess. Let me see how wet you are."

His words send a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you, and you feel your underwear sticking to your core, ruined.

"That's it," he murmurs, satisfied. "Such a good girl for me."

He guides you both to the far back, where plush cushioned seats stretch along the rear like a leather couch. 

He settles first, then pulls you onto his lap in one fluid motion. Your knees bracket his hips as his mouth finds yours again, hungrier this time, filthier, his teeth scraping against your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue.

"Fuck," he growls into your mouth, "I've thought about this—about you—every single fucking day. Do you know how many times I've had to fuck my own fist thinking about you? Thinking about this pretty mouth, this body, the sounds you make when you come?"

You whine, high and desperate, your hips rolling instinctively, grinding down against the growing hardness beneath you. 

The friction is maddening — not enough, but too much at the same time.

"Ki, please—"

"Please what, baby?" His hands slide under your shirt, splaying across your bare back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. "Use your words. Tell me what you need."

"You, ugh, I need you—"

"Need me to what?" He's teasing now, cruel, his lips trailing down your jaw to your neck. He finds that spot, the one that makes your knees weak, and bites down before sucking hard enough to leave a mark. 

"Need me to touch you? To fuck you? To make you scream my name until you forget everything but me?"

"Fuck—yes, all of it, please—"

His hands slide up your ribs to cup your breasts through your bra, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they peak and ache beneath his touch.

You arch into him, desperate for more pressure, more friction, more everything.

"These tits," he groans, squeezing gently. "I've thought about them so much. How they'd feel in my hands, in my mouth. You have no idea how crazy you drove me, walking around in those tight shirts whenever your little squad was in the middle of an operation, you didn't know exactly what you were doing to me when I saw those pictures taken by my men."

"I wasn't—I didn't—"

"Liars go to hell, baby." His thumb flicks over your nipple, hard, and you gasp. "But you're already there, aren't you? Wet and desperate on my lap, grinding on my cock like the needy little slut you are."

His dirty words should embarrass you, but instead they just make you wetter, needier. 

Your hips grind down harder, chasing the friction you crave, and he lets out a dark chuckle.

"Look at you. So fucking desperate. You'd let me do anything to you right now, wouldn't you?"

"Yes—anything, please, just fuck me—"

"Anything?" His voice drops lower, dangerous. "Would you let me bend you over and fuck you until you can't walk? Let me use that pretty mouth until you're crying? Let me mark you up so everyone knows who you belong to?"

The words hit you like a physical force, and you shudder, nodding frantically.

"Yes, god, yes—yours, Ki—I'm yours—"

"Damn right you are." He captures your lips again, swallowing your whimpers. "You've always been mine. Even when we were apart. Even when you hated me. Mine."

His hands tighten on you, possessive and reverent all at once. Your own fingers card through his hair, tugging hard, and the sound that escapes him is downright sinful.

"Shit, princess, do that again—"

You pull harder, and he groans, his hips bucking up into you.

"God, baby, I've missed you so much — you don't even know," he murmurs against your jaw, his lips trailing hot and wet down to your neck. 

Beneath you, you can feel him getting harder, straining against the confines of his pants, and it makes you ache with want.

He's so, so big. 

You can feel every inch of him through the layers of fabric, thick and hard and pressing right against where you need him most.

"Feel that, princess?" He rolls his hips up, grinding against you. "That's what you do to me. Have been half-hard since I saw you in that grass, looking all professional and sexy, thinking you could actually catch me."

"I could have," you manage, though your voice comes out breathy and unconvincing.

He laughs, dark and low. "You didn't want to catch me, baby. You wanted me to catch you."

Before you can respond, an idea sparks in your mind.

You pull back slightly, reaching for your bag on the floor. His eyes follow your movements, curiosity flickering across his features, until you pull out the handcuffs.

His entire body goes still.

For a moment, genuine wariness flashes in his eyes. His jaw tightens, and you see his brain working — calculating, assessing. He doesn't know if this is a scheme, if you're still playing the detective, if this is all an elaborate trap to bring him in. 

The tension is palpable, his muscles coiling like he's ready to spring.

"Baby," he says carefully, "what are you doing?"

You see the uncertainty in his expression and smile, slow and wicked.

"Relax, cutie," you purr, trailing your free hand down his chest. "You're under arrest."

His brow arches, skepticism warring with arousal. "Under arrest for what?"

The raw hunger in his gaze belies his casual tone, and you lean in close, your lips brushing the shell of his ear.

"For being way too hot."

Something shifts in his expression, relief flooding in, followed immediately by dark, burning want. 

He holds out his wrists without protest, a smirk playing at his lips.

"Well then, officer. I surrender. Do with me what you will."

You click the handcuffs into place, securing his wrists together. The metal is cool against his skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body.

"Fuck," he breathes, testing the restraints. "You look so hot like this. All commanding and in control. Who knew my girl had an authority kink?"

"Shut up."

"Make me."

You shove him back against the seat, climbing over him, and capture his mouth in a bruising kiss. 

He responds immediately, straining against the handcuffs, desperate to touch you but unable to.

"Having trouble there, baby?" you tease against his lips.

"You're going to pay for this," he growls, but there's no real threat in his voice — just a promise.

"Looking forward to it."

Slowly, deliberately, you trace your fingers down his chest, over the hard planes of his stomach, following the trail of hair disappearing beneath his waistband. 

His breath hitches, muscles tensing and jumping beneath your touch.

"Your hands," he rasps. "Been dreaming about your hands on me for so fucking long."

Your fingers find his belt, unbuckling it with agonizing slowness. You take your time with the button, then the zipper, letting the anticipation build until he's practically vibrating beneath you.

"You're such a tease," he groans. "Always were. Fucking torture."

"Patience, you hunk."

The nickname catches him off guard, you've never called him that before, and his eyes darken impossibly further.

"Call me that again."

"Make me."

You hook your fingers into his pants and pull them down his thighs, leaving him in just those red boxers, his erection straining against the thin fabric. 

A wet spot has already formed at the tip, and you run your thumb over it, spreading the moisture.

"Shit, baby—" he chokes out, his head falling back against the seat. "Your fingers, they’re so—fuck—"

You lean down, your breath ghosting over him through the fabric, and he lets out a sound that's half-moan, half-whimper.

"Please, baby, don't tease me—"

"Where's that famous composure, Ki?" you murmur, pressing a kiss to his tip through the cotton. "The big bad mafia leader, falling apart from just this?"

"I'll show you falling apart," he threatens, but his voice cracks on the words. "Just wait until I get my hands on you."

"Maybe I don't want you to."

"Liar."

You grip the waistband of his boxers with your teeth, and his whole body jerks.

"Holy shit, you're—shit, so sexy, fuck—"

You drag the fabric down slowly, torturously, inch by inch, revealing the sharp cut of his hip bones and the base of his cock. 

His abdominal muscles are trembling, tensing and releasing with every shaky breath.

When you finally pull the fabric down enough for him to spring free, he's flushed and leaking, hard enough that it looks almost painful. 

He's thick and long, bigger than you could’ve ever imagined, veins running along the underside that you want to trace with your tongue.

"God, Ki," you breathe, taking him in. "You're so fucking thick. How am I supposed to take all of this?"

"Trust me, baby," he groans, his voice wrecked. "You'll take it. You'll take every fucking inch because you're my good girl, and good girls take what they're given."

The filth spilling from his mouth makes you clench around nothing, arousal dripping from you.

You wrap your hand around the base of him, feeling him pulse in your grip. He's hot, hard, velvet over steel. 

You lean in and kitten-lick the tip, gathering the precum beading there.

The sound that tears from his throat is obscene, a broken moan that echoes through the car.

"That's it," he rasps, straining against the handcuffs. "Fuck, your tongue—so good, mmgh, just like that—"

You take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, letting your saliva coat his length. The weight of him on your tongue is intoxicating, and you moan around him, the vibration making him buck up involuntarily.

"Shit, I’m sorry, can't—" He's losing control, his hips twitching, trying so hard to stay still but failing. "Your mouth, princess, you have no idea what you do to me—"

You pull back to breathe, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his cock. The sight makes him curse under his breath.

"Look at you," he growls. "So pretty with your lips wrapped around my cock. Such a good little thing for me."

You take him again, deeper this time, relaxing your throat. 

But he's too big, you can't fit all of him, so you stroke what you can't reach, twisting your wrist on the upstroke, rubbing your thumb over the sensitive spot beneath the head.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, baby—" His voice is cracking, his thighs trembling violently against the leather seats. "You're—you're gonna make me—"

The handcuffs clink against the seat as he strains, desperate to touch you, to grab your hair, to control the pace. 

But he can't. 

He's completely at your mercy, and it's driving him insane.

"Just like that, baby, princess, you're doing so well—taking me so good—" His words are punctuated by groans and gasps, his chest heaving. "Missed you, missed this, missed your mouth—your hands—everything—"

You hum around him, and he almost sobs.

"I'm, fuck—wait, princess, I'm gonna—"

You don't stop. If anything, you move faster, sucking harder, determined to push him over the edge. Your hand works in tandem with your mouth, slick and fast and relentless.

"Shit, you're—you're gonna make me come, baby, wait, want to come inside you—"

It's too darn late. 

With a broken cry, he spills into your mouth, hot and thick and so much of it. You swallow what you can, some of it spilling from the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—"

He comes down slowly, his body going boneless against the seat, his chest heaving. His eyes are glassy, distant, completely fucked out.

When you finally pull off him with a wet pop, he stares at you with something between awe and obsession.

"Come here," he rasps.

You climb up his body, and he captures your mouth in a messy kiss, tasting himself on your tongue. He groans into it, filthy and unashamed.

"You're such a greedy little slut," he murmurs against your lips, but there's nothing but reverence in his voice. "Taking everything I gave you. So perfect. So fucking perfect."

You reach up and unlock the handcuffs, freeing his wrists. The moment his hands are free, he's on you, flipping your positions until you're beneath him on the leather seat, his eyes dark with renewed hunger.

"My turn," he growls.

His hands find your pants, undoing them and yanking them down your legs along with your underwear in one impatient motion. 

The cool air hits your soaked core, and you shiver.

"Look at you," he breathes, staring at your glistening folds. "So wet. Did sucking me off turn you on that much, baby? Got yourself all messy just from having my cock in your mouth?"

"Yes, god—" you admit, shameless.

"Filthy girl." But he sounds pleased. "Let me clean you up."

He starts to lower his head, but you stop him with a hand on his chest.

"Wait, I need you, right now, please—"

"But baby, I need to taste you—"

"Later, fuck me first, please, Ki—"

The desperation in your voice must get to him, because he curses and nods.

"Okay, princess. Okay. I've got you."

He lifts you effortlessly, settling you onto his lap, your core pressing against his already-hardening length. You're so wet that you slide against him easily, coating him in your arousal.

"Already hard again?" you tease, though your voice is breathless.

"For you? Always." He grips himself, positioning at your entrance. "You have no idea what you do to me. Could stay hard for you forever."

He starts to push in, and you both groan at the contact. Just the tip, but you already feel impossibly full.

"That's it," he soothes, his hands gripping your hips to steady you. "Just the tip, baby. You're doing so good."

He pushes in further, inch by agonizing inch, and you feel yourself stretching around him. It's overwhelming, the burn, the fullness, the intimacy.

"Fuck, you're so tight, so wet…" His voice is strained, his control hanging by a thread. "Relax for me, princess. Shit, let me in."

You try, forcing your muscles to unclench, and he slides in deeper.

"That's it, such a good girl, baby, you're taking me so well—"

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he's fully seated inside you. You stay there for a moment, trembling, trying to adjust to the impossible stretch.

"You okay?" he asks, his voice softer now, genuine concern bleeding through.

"Y-yeah. Just—you're so, so big, Riki. I feel so full."

He groans, his head dropping to your shoulder. "You can't say shit like that. I'm trying so hard to be gentle."

"Don't be gentle."

His head snaps up, his eyes dark. "Baby—"

"I can take it. I want it. Fuck me, Ki. Make me feel it."

Something in him snaps.

He lifts you up and slams you back down, and you scream. It's too much, it's perfect, it's everything.

"That's it, scream for me, let me hear how good I make you feel—"

He sets a brutal pace, bouncing you on his cock, using you like you're nothing more than a toy. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the car, obscene and wet.

"Shit, Ki, please—"

"Please what, princess? Use your words."

"Harder, I need it harder—"

He flips you onto your back, hiking your legs over his shoulders, and drives into you so deep you see stars.

"Like this? Is this what you needed, baby? Needed me to split you open on my cock?"

"Yes, god, yes—"

His hand finds your clit, rubbing tight circles, and you feel your orgasm building already.

"Come for me, baby. Come on my cock like a good girl."

You shatter, screaming his name, clenching around him so hard he hisses. But he doesn't stop — he fucks you through it, chasing his own release.

"One more, give me one more—"

"I can't, it's way too much—"

"You can. You will. Be a good girl and come for me again."

He angles his hips, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision white out, and you come again with a broken sob, squirting around him.

"That's it, fuck, such a good girl, making a mess on my dick like the needy slut you are—"

His thrusts grow erratic, his breathing ragged.

"Where do you want it, baby? Inside? On your face? Tell me —"

"Inside, come inside me, please—"

He buries himself deep and comes with a groan, filling you with warmth. You can feel him pulsing inside you, pumping you full, and it's so dirty and perfect that you nearly come again from the sensation.

He stays inside you for a moment, catching his breath, before slowly pulling out. You feel his release trickling out of you, and he groans at the sight.

"Look at that," he murmurs. "So pretty with my cum dripping out of you."

He reaches down, gathering some on his fingers and pushing it back inside. You whimper, oversensitive.

"Can't let any go to waste, baby. This is mine. You're mine."

He pulls you into his arms, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead. You're both a mess, covered in sweat and come and saliva, but neither of you cares.

"I love you," he whispers against your hair. "I still love you so, so much. I have so much love to give you."

You cling to him, overwhelmed, your heart pounding against your ribs.

"I love you too," you murmur. "But Ki... how? Our jobs — we're on opposite sides—"

He pulls back slightly, cupping your face in his hands. His eyes are soft, earnest, the same eyes you fell in love with all those years ago.

"We'll find a way," he says firmly. "Because love knows no bounds. It's you. It'll always be you, no matter what."

He presses a final kiss to your forehead, then gently brushes the tangled hair from your face, wiping away the sweat and the remnants of your shared passion. 

His touch is so gentle, so tender, a stark contrast to the filth that was spilling from his mouth minutes ago.

"I love you," he says again, softer this time. "Let me love you. Let me figure this out."

You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed.

"Okay," you whisper. "Okay."

⭐️ ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

[enhaxniniee]

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

@yeoniel2005

[sunmoonnie]

Kiss It Better

bf!jake x reader

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ summary :: being single in your teenage years made you miss out on many things, one of them being the kissing game with the soda flavored lipsticks. so, now that you finally have a boyfriend, you decide to play it. however, the game quickly escalates into something more...

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ genre :: smut (mdni!)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ tags :: fingering, small fluff, missionary, p in v, jake is head over heels for y/n, squirting, small to no plot, pwp, kissing, making out, overstimulation, masturbation, protected sex, nicknames, cum eating, finger sucking, dry humping (kinda)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ wc :: 3.1k

now playing :: kiss it better — rihanna

With the plastic box tugged under your arm, you typed in the message quickly as you were waiting for the traffic lights to turn green so you could finally rush home. 

you : i got the thing. ill be home in probs like 5 mins.

You couldn't deny the nervousness that took over your body. The lights finally changed, and you snatched the box out from under your arms and threw it in your tote bag. You made your way to the other side of the road with quick steps, getting lost in the big New York crowd. 

Just another busy Friday morning. Every person has a different goal. A different place they go to. Most probably go to work, but who knows? Maybe they are on their way to one of their loved ones in the hospital, or they are going on a date (even though it's eleven in the morning). 

Personally, you were on your way to your new apartment. You freshly moved out of the college dorm to your own apartment, and it was pretty hard to pretend like you felt sad for your roommate while she was sobbing in your arms when you told her the news. The truth was that you were straight up cheesing inside the whole time. You couldn't wait to have your own personal space, without anyone interrupting your study sessions or series binge sessions. But the best part : you finally had enough time to be with your boyfriend alone. 

Jake was your first ever boyfriend, which was a kinda embarrassing thing to admit at the age of twenty. However, you felt like you just entered your youth, even if it was late. You tried to ignore that part. People usually do cringy teenager type of things when they are sixteen, but you missed out on that. 

You weren't the type to complain a lot, but one day you found yourself spilling your heart out to Jake about it while your head was in his lap, his fingers caressing your head as he nodded understandingly. 

That's where the idea came from : the lipsmackers, now tossed in your bag next to your breakfast you got from the bakery on the corner of the street. 

It was Jake’s idea. He said, and I quote “We should start doing those ‘cringy’ things, then” 

You wanted to say ‘no’ so bad, because still, you are in college, a twenty year old independent woman who has a successful career in front of her. You almost did say no, but thinking it through, it can't hurt, right? 

So, Jake made you write a list of things you missed out on when you were a teenager. The things your friends would brag about to you, knowing damn well you are a lonely loser. The things that made you so insecure you couldn't stop scratching your arms. 

Lip Smackers were on top of the list. It was so nostalgic, at a time they were all over the stores. Well, you never had anyone to do it with. Until now.

You push down the bell next to your apartment door. Jake should be there, because he spent last night with you. You binged all the three Maze Runner movies, and neither of you noticed how much the time passed. By the time you finished, it was already four am. 

Soon, the door opens and the most gorgeous boy you have ever seen in your life smiles at you. Then he steps closer and wants to press a kiss on your lips, but you stop him.

“Remember, no kissing” you say, teasingly. You and Jake decided to not kiss until you got the lipsticks. It was anticipating, because you made the list two days ago, and you kiss, like, all the time. 

He rolls his eyes, but the corners of his lips are tugging upwards “Someone is strict” he comments, leading you in the apartment and closing the door behind you.

You set your bag down by the table, pulling your breakfast and the plastic box out of it. Jake glances at it, then his eyes find you again. “So? When do we start? I don't think I can handle another day without kissing you” 

He steps closer, grabbing you by your waist. And he moves dangerously close, his lips breezing your skin ever so slightly. 

You look up at him, smiling “We can do it now”

                             ⋆｡‧˚ʚ ୨ৎ ɞ˚‧｡⋆

You fiddle with the box a bit before you can open it, your hands shaking. Jake is sitting on the bed in front of you, and you could tell he just can't wait, because his back is perfectly straight and he has his hands on his knees as they are crossed. 

Your heart is thumping in your chest. You don't even know how to play this game properly. It sounds so dumb — a grown woman being anxious to play a kissing game with her boyfriend. It's straight up ridiculous. But the lipsticks bring back so many memories, and most of them being bad, you just can't help your feelings. 

When you finally manage to get the lipsticks out of the box, you look up at Jake.

“Okay. Cover your eyes. And don't cheat” You tell him, and he nods as he lowers his head and buries his head in his hands.

You look down at the six different lipsticks, indicated in vivid colors. You end up picking the sprite one first. As you apply it on your lips, you taste it a little bit, the sweet flavor getting on your tongue. It tastes horrible, like every candy from the 2000s. It's not much of a surprise.

You throw the green bottle back to the other ones, mixing them together.

“You can look now,” You insist. 

Jake looks up faster than the speed of light, his eyes landing on your glistening lips. He's so freaking cute when he's all excited but can't get what he wants yet. 

You smile softly “You are really excited”

“I am” he doesn't deny it, he gets on his knees so he can crawl towards you. 

He moves slowly, almost hesitant like it's your first kiss ever. Like it's his first kiss ever. He gulps nervously, Adam's apple bobbing visibly in his throat. Jake leans down and presses his soft lips onto yours. He doesn't move at first, and you don't either, because you have no idea what to do.

After a few moments, you feel his tongue darting out and licking your bottom lip. He grabs onto your shoulders and pulls you closer to taste it better, but his tongue only licks your lips and he's very careful with it.

He pulls back, looking up for a moment. “Hm” he humms, thinking “I think… Sprite? Maybe?”

You nod heavily, feeling your cheeks getting red. “You got it right on the first try. That's good” 

“Alright, next one” He hurries, lowering his head again.

You let out a small laugh, picking out the next lipstick. You hesitate for a moment, should it be Coca Cola or Fanta? Coca cola is an iconic flavor, he would get it fast, meaning he wouldn't kiss you for long… But Fanta is his favorite. Maybe he would get that even faster.

But again, Fanta is his favorite. Bingo.

You pick up the neon orange bottle with more confidence now, smearing it all over your lips. Once. Then twice. Then thrice. 

“I'm done” You smile and close your eyes, this game is so fun after all. 

You keep your eyes closed but hear the bed creaking under his weight as he crawls closer again. He's so so slow, it makes you want to pull him closer as fast as possible. It feels like he's doing it on purpose.  

He leans down, your eyes are still closed. You feel his hot breath hitting your skin, your slick lips offered to him. His lips feel softer this time on yours, he kisses you like he's trying to hold back. You know it, it happened before. It makes you feel a little more excited, knowing he's trying his best to control himself.

He licks your lips again. Once, then twice. Jake tilts his head slightly and licks your lips once again, this time he licks into your mouth. It's a bit awkward, he’s hesitant with it, but you let him. His hands find the side of your burning hot cheeks, and he tilts your head upwards for more availability. The angle feels better now, and you straight up make out at this point. His tongue finds yours continuously, and his lips are moving hungryly on yours. 

He kneels between your legs, but you feel him crawl closer, gesturing you to move back. And you do, until your back hits the bedframe. The kiss never breaks, his movements are far away from hesitant. Jake moves his hands from your cheeks to your waists, squeezing it slightly.

“This one is… good…” he manages to spit out, then he dives onto the softness of your lips again. 

Jake bites down your bottom lip, and you can't stop a small moan from getting out. You let your hands wander and you ran them through his soft brown hair, grabbing onto the back of his head to push him closer. 

His hands feel hot against your skin as he pushes your shirt upwards. 

He breaks the kiss, and you finally open your eyes to meet his. His pupils are blown wide and his whole face is red like he's tipsy, drunk on your lips. Not to talk about his glossy lips, the lipstick messily smeared all around his mouth, some of it on his cheeks. 

“Can I take this off?” He asks softly, tugging your shirt.

You nod and help him, then your eyes flick to his yellow-black striped shirt. A silent gesture, but he gets what you want immediately and takes it off. He tosses both of the shirts aside and fiddles with his zipper. Your eyes track his every movement. 

“Fuck” he cusses when he finally unbuttons his jeans and pulls it down, throwing it aside.

The next thing you know is that he’s on your neck, sucking on the smooth skin. It will probably leave marks later. 

He works his way down with his mouth, and you take a deep sigh before you look down at his back, watching how his back muscles flex with every movement, every time he leans lower and every time he moves his hands on your hips.

“Jake… Please” you beg. He looks up at you, his fingers hooking onto your pants as he pulls them down without teasing.

His tone is soft when he asks “Please what, angel?” 

You swallow, squirming in your place “I want you”

He smirks up, and moves back up to kiss you. As he kisses you, he still feels the vague taste of the Fanta on his tongue. He grinds his hips down, you feel his bulge against your panties, fabric to fabric.

“What do you want from me? Be specific?” He tilts his head, looking at you with those big puppy eyes.

You are sure you are about to melt. Why is he soft and cute, but also so handsome and hot at the same time? How is that possible?

You lick your lips, looking down at his body hovering above you. “I want you inside of me, please, Jake” you whisper. 

He smiles, grinding down again. His bulge presses to your wet panties, the fabric is — gosh — so thin. 

“Hm, what a nasty girl…” he mumbles, kissing on your cheek. “I gotta prepare you for that, then, because I don't think you can take it right away”

He drags a line with his index finger  across your chest, between your breasts, across your stomach, and then he plays with the lace of your panties for a while. Jake sees the anticipation on your face, and it makes him nearly laugh. He ends up letting out a small giggle as he pulls the panties down. 

How could he ever tease you rudely when you look at him so softly? 

He circles on your wet clit, and you let your head fall back on the bedframe. When you are about to catch your breath and get yourself together, you feel two of his long fingers sliding inside your dripping hole. Your hand flies to grab his muscular arm, letting out a moan. 

“Jake!” you scream when he curls his fingers inside, just the right way. He moves them fastly, setting up a rhythm. You clench around his fingers, the stretch makes you see stars when he scissors his fingers impatiently.

As he plumps his fingers inside with his right hand, he holds you in place with his other one, his thumb caressing your stomach. 

When you are about to burst, your mind going dizzier than ever, he pulls his fingers out. 

You take deep breaths, chest rising and falling heavily. He moves his hand up to your face and pushes his fingers inside of your mouth suddenly, forcing you to suck on them. Your mind is already so fucked up that you just do whatever he tells you to do. “Good…good girl” he mumbles, the sight of you sucking on his digits and tasting yourself turning him on more than it should be.

“Do you think you are ready now?” Jake asks but he's already pulling his boxers down, out of breath.

You nod, and watch him as he reaches to the bedside table and pulls out a condom and lube. He rolls up the condom and smears lube over his cock, making it slippery. Jake lines up against your entrance and he sucks his breath in as he pushes in. He always does this, you’ve noticed it already. 

You moan as your muscles tense, grabbing the sheets next to you to keep yourself steady. He stops, a small whine leaving his mouth.

“Are you okay?” He eyes you up and down, and his gaze sets on your face. You look at him, your eyes half lidded and your gaze hazy. 

“Yeah” you breath, barely audible. 

But Jake hears it, and he starts to move slowly. Even though he stretched you out with his fingers, you still feel like your walls are about to break at any moment.

You arch your back as he pushes again and bottoms out slowly. You feel him slightly shaking, a sign that he's still trying to control himself. 

His shaky breaths caresses your skin. 

“Jake” you mumble out, and he immediately looks at you. “You can go faster” you add.

You don't need to tell him twice, he picks his pace up and starts going in a faster rhythm, kneeling up on the bed so he can fuck inside you deeper. 

You moan out his name as he spreads your legs wider and lifts your hips. This angle makes it better to reach your G spot with every thrust, his movements getting smoother, the lube helping him out a lot. 

“So pretty and tight for me” Jake digs his nails onto your calves and moves them around his waist, gesturing you to lock them around him so he can get deeper. And you do it, trying to ignore the fact that your legs are beginning to give up and tremble.

Jake moves effortlessly in and out of you, and you open your teary eyes to look up at him, watching as he bites down his bottom lip. His muscles tense and flex with every move, and he keeps his eyes on your smooth wetness between your legs. The lube is mixed with your juices by now, and he can't get enough of the sight.

The bed creacks every time he bottoms out, the bed frame hitting the wall progressively. You grab the sheets like your life depends on it, the lipsticks slowly rolling to the edge of the bed until they fall down on the floor with a thud. 

You feel how you are falling apart slowly, your legs are undeniably trembling. Jake moves his hands from under your thighs to the curve of your ass, caressing in slightly. 

“Take it” he commands, thrusting hard. 

“Shit, Jake I’m going to—” without being able to finish the sentence, it happens. It's so sudden that you don't even realize what happens. 

Not until Jake stops his movements and pulls out. He leans down and presses a kiss on your neck, giggling “I didn't know I could make you squirt” 

You widen your eyes, the adrenaline still rushing through your body when you look down at your legs. Jake kneels up again and starts to stroke himself, looking at your pussy being covered in your juices you squirted out. Jake is also covered in it, his dick and abdomen glistering. 

Jake whimpers as he strokes himself, biting down his bottom lip. He comes into the condom with a whine escaping his lips a few moments later. He spanks your cunt with his dick, slightly pushing it between your wet folds. Then, he collapses onto the bed and steadies himself by putting his palms next to you on the bed. 

You are still dizzy and high by your enormous orgasm, probably your biggest one yet. You are also kinda shocked and embarrassed by how you ruined the sheets, but it seems like Jake isn't bothered by it. 

He lays down next to you, exhausted. You both turn to look at each other on the bed, just watching each other gasping for air. 

“I'm… sorry” you say after a few silent minutes, referring to the way your sheets are all wet now.

“Sorry? You don't have to be sorry” Jake smiles at your awkwardness. “This was probably our best session yet, if you’d ask me”

You can't help but smirk at that. “Yeah?”

Jake nods “Yes. Next time we play this guessing game we should spice it up a little”

You cock an eyebrow “Spice it up? This wasn't spicy enough?” 

“What I mean is that next time you should put it on your other lips” 

Your jaw nearly drops, and you hit his arm playfully. You try to hide how the idea doesn't make you disgusted at all, no, you will probably even think of it more than you should later. 

“You are such a freak, Jake Sim”

“But you love it” he leans closer, pressing a kiss on your forehead. 

And you smile, feeling blessed that you have such a good boyfriend you can do things like this with. “I do”