( 애인 ) 𝒾n which ︵ since you're afraid sex will ruin your relationship, your best friend promises you it'll be just the tip. well, guess what? he's kind of a liar. ⫶ smut mdni 277O dom!enha friends-to-lovers-esque very much strings-attached sex rough/mean sex implied no protection confessions not proofread (oops ><)
⌨️ like&&reblog for a kiss. ── #click4masterlist to see more.
LEE HEESEUNG ── "yes, baby, i swear. c'mon, jus' let me in you."
the thing with heeseung? you've never been good at denying him of what he wants. all it takes is one look, one pout, and you're caving instantly.
you tug your bottom lip between your teeth, hesitant, "hee, please don't... you said it'd be just the tip." thing is, he's your best friend. at least, that's all he's supposed to be—instead, he's lined up between your legs, the leaky tip of his cock tapping against your clit, practically begging to let him fuck you right.
heeseung's fingers brush your slick cunt, and you whimper, bucking your hips slightly up. "i know you want it, doll. lemme make you feel good, yeah?" he leans down, teeth sinking into the skin of your collarbone, making your breath hitch in a whiny moan.
his touch makes you melt. makes your brain short-circuit. makes you forget about any worries you have about ruining what you already have with him. he drags his tongue over the bite marks he's just made, soothing the spot.
he litters soft kisses all over your chest, and just like that, you forget why you ever held off fucking him like this in the first place. "okay," you whisper. "shit—okay."
he looks up quick, like he's not sure if he even heard you right. but there's this grin on his face. it's wide, toothy, and entirely too smug. like he knew you'd end up agreeing. if he wants to rub it in, he doesn't, which you're a little grateful for.
"fuck, baby, thank you. gonna fuck you so well, i swear you won't regret it."
yeah, just like he swore he wouldn't go past the tip. the retort dies on your tongue, because then he's pushing into you, the bed frame creaking in protest with every thrust. he's just so big, and he barely gives you a moment to adjust.
"mm, wait, hee—"
"sorrysorrysorry," he groans, the words falling from his mouth in a single string. "just spent so long dreaming of fucking this pretty pussy."
PARK JONGSEONG ── "y'know, you're not doing a great job at pretending you don't want this."
your face flushes, and you try to duck your head, but jongseong's hovering over your body. with the hand that's not on your bare hip, he pulls your chin back towards him, forcing eye contact.
"seongie," you whine, a tinge of embarrassment in your voice. "you promised we wouldn't go all the way."
"and you're making a mess all over my cock, baby. just give in. you know you want to." he doesn't say it like he's pleading or trying to convince you. he says it like it's a fact, which might be worse.
actually, it is worse.
because he can read your body. he can read the tremble in your voice as you try to hold your ground. the hitch of your breath when his tongue flicks against your nipple.
even now, when he's barely more than an inch into you, he doesn't miss the way you're squeezing him, practically trying to suck him in. and with how wet you are, it'd be so easy to just slip right in.
"i—i don't know," you stammer out, or try to, as he rubs slow circles onto your clit, smearing your messy arousal all over your thighs. you part your lips, like you're about to protest, but all that comes out is a moan.
"but we're friends—" you bite out, your arms around his neck, instinctively pulling him closer.
"so what? we'll be friends that fuck. or more, if that's what you want. that's what i want. we can work out the details later, can't we?"
the word more rings in your ears, and jongseong can hear the gears shifting in your cock-drunk mind.
"hey, hey. don't worry your pretty little head about that right now. just let me take care of you. it'll be the best you'll have."
you nod once, barely interceptable, but he shakes his head. "words, sweetheart. use your words for me, hm?"
you feel heat creep up your neck, but you nod again anyway. "yes, seongie. i... i want you to fuck me."
god, you really don't have to tell him twice.
it's when he finally bottoms out, that he has to stop and go though a roster of formula 1 teams, in order not to cum.
after all, might not have kept his initial promise, but he would be the best fuck of your life.
SIM JAEYUN ── "please, angel. fuckin' hell... you need this as bad as i do, don't lie."
jake's eyes are so innocent, though the intent behind them is anything but. his gaze, set firmly on you, makes heat pool in your stomach, adding to the wet mess on the sheets beneath you.
sure, you and jake had fooled around before. it wasn't rare. if anything, it was a daily occurrence. you'd humped him mindlessly on the couch before, sucked him off in his studio, and let him finger you for hours at a time. but this?
this wasn't the same. actually fucking him felt like crossing a line. like stepping over an already blurry boundary.
but he's adamant. so adamant. he's got his heart dead-set on this, pouting at you with those pretty pink lips, slightly swollen from kissing. as mentioned, however, it's anything but innocent.
he's spent the better part of an hour marking you up, leaving hickeys and bite marks all over your body. your neck, your chest, your thighs. shades of pink and red have bloomed all over your skin, and he's never looked prouder.
"jakey, 's not that i don't wanna," you say, soft and shaky. because of course you want to. it's all you've ever wanted. to feel his cock inside your cunt, for him to fuck like a dog in heat. "it's that i don't wanna mess this up."
"mess what up? us? angel, you could never. no matter what, okay? you seriously can't get rid of me that easy," he assures you, both efficiently and kindly. and in case his words aren't enough to soothe your doubt, he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, quick but lingering.
"really?"
"really. will you let me feel all of you now? hm? let me fuck you the way you deserve?"
"please," you murmur, looking up at him through your lashes. that's all it takes for him to ease into you slowly, like he's trying to memorize this moment and keep it with himself forever. the groan that jake lets out at hearing your soft whimpers—it's straight up pornographic.
"this pussy is so much fuckin' better than my fist."
PARK SUNGHOON ── "you're leaking all over my dick, and still... you're going to say you don't want me?"
one thing park sunghoon always found joy in was teasing you. it didn't matter what for.
whether it was pointing out every time you'd stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk, or still bringing up that one time from a year ago when you'd accidentally put the cereal in the fridge and the milk in the pantry—he was relentless when he wanted to be.
like now. especially now. just... instead of sidewalks and cereal boxes, it was the way you were a teary, needy mess, and still insisting that you didn't want any more than the tip of his thick cock.
you shake your head, trying to fight back a moan when he pinches your clit. "d—don't be mean, hoonie."
"i'm not being mean, sweets," sunghoon chides, but he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose nonetheless. "if anything, you're the one being mean. you're such a pretty little thing, thighs spread, all dripping for me... and you expect me not to want to fuck you all the way?"
he clicks his tongue, pushing a little further into you. he watches your eyes hit the back of your head, the cutest, breathiest sound leaving your mouth.
"please," you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders.
"please, what? i can't even tell what you're begging for, baby. 'please, hoonie, fuck me?' is that what you're begging for?"
"fuck—yeah," you blurt, before you can even process the words that are leaving your mouth. it seems to surprise him just as much, because his eyes go a little wide, and for someone who's spent the last thirty minutes with sharp, quick responses, he seems a little speechless.
"well, damn, baby. thought we'd be going back and forth a little while longer," he chuckles, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. "not really complaining, though."
when sunghoon fucks into you, it's so him. harsh and cruel, but with loving intention. the pace he sets is rough, and he really doesn't show you any mercy.
turns out, being a little mean can get you a long way.
KIM SUNOO ── "so insistent on playing this game, huh?"
"sun, it's not... It's not like that," you protest weakly, but the way sunoo's looking at you—like a man who's got the world at his fingertips and knows it—has the rest of your sentence dying on your tongue.
"what is it like, then? you just feel like being a brat?" sunoo's words are sharp, they always are, but never sharper than the feeling of his teeth nipping at your collarbone. he doesn't seem annoyed by the waiting game. a little impatient? well, yes.
not annoyed, though. not frustrated. just... bored. it isn't disinterested-bored. more like give-in-already-so-we-can-cut-to-the-chase-bored. it's different. it's cocky. because he knows you'll end up submitting to him.
the feeling of his tip pressing against the entrance of your wet heat makes you flinch, and it takes everything in you not to beg him to fuck you right then.
"i—i feel," you stutter, "like not losing us over some sex."
sunoo's head snaps up. "some sex?" he asks, almost sounding offended. no, scratch that, he does sound offended. "you're seriously underestimating how good of a fuck i am."
"that's not the point!" if he didn't have your hands pinned together above you, you'd hit him, because he's being so... sunoo. misinterpreting your words on purpose, teasing you, seeing how far he can push you until you snap. and both of you know you're already reaching your breaking point.
he lowers his head to the crook of your neck, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses all over your chest. his lips wrap around your nipple, sucking and biting, committing your soft whimpers to memory.
"nothing'll happen to us just 'cause we had some earth-shattering sex. i mean it. if anything, you'll just become more obsessed with me," he snickers, dropping a hand between your legs to slip his fingers between your folds.
"fuck you."
"i'm clearly willing."
you're silent for a beat, but the sheer need for him, for wanting to get fucked dumb on his cock, is overwhelmingly loud. "fine," you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut. he laughs, condescending, but it just makes you clench.
he pushes into you, and his dick fills you up, makes you feel so good, so full. sunoo's hips snap against yours, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. every thrust makes you cry out, and he drinks up the sweet sound.
"i'll show you some sex," he scoffs.
YANG JUNGWON ── "i know, pretty girl. i know. but you won't regret it."
his words are entirely too convincing. they fall from jungwon's mouth, easy and honey-sweet. there's a soft sheen of sweat on his skin, and the curve of his lashes has you melting into his touch.
"wonnie..." you whisper, soft and uncertain. like there's more you want to say, but can't find the words for.
jungwon just kisses you, his lips slotting against yours. and because he's him, your best friend for ages, you kiss him back. he tastes like strawberries and your coffee that he stole sips from.
he's already more than an inch in anyway, waiting for you to let him in all the way. "you're thinking s'loud," he murmurs, pulling away, a thin line of saliva connecting his mouth to yours. "i can hear you from here. don't overthink it. haven't even fucked you yet, and you're already squeezing around my cock."
his voice dips to a lower register, and he leans down by your ear, his breath hot. "just let yourself have it." the tone jungwon uses makes your face flush, and your heart skips a beat in your chest.
he always looks so gentle about everything, but there's a mocking lilt in his tone right now that makes you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.
the movement makes him slip deeper into your cunt, and he groans, "fuck—fuck, princess. give a guy a warning, yeah? gonna make me cum just from that." jungwon's hips stutter as he readjusts, and he shifts his angle, needing more of you.
"sorry," you breathe, looking up at him. his hair is tousled, slightly unkempt from you running your hands through it. "i just... um, i like you. this. us. whatever 'us' is."
"yeah? same here, baby. i care about you too much to ever do anything to jeopardize us." he pauses, tucking hair behind your ear. "do you trust me?"
you don't hesitate. "yeah, wonnie. i do."
"good," he says, his lips meeting your temple. he looks at you, silently acknowledging what he's about to do. when you nod, he bottoms out, pushing himself all the way in. his cock drags against your walls, stretching you out on himself.
"mm—won—" you moan, grasping his arms to steady you.
"shit, you're such a good girl. feels nice, right? didn't i say it would?"
NISHIMURA RIKI ── "screw that promise, baby. to hell with it. this pussy's so perfect, s'begging to get fucked by me."
so far, riki's been true to his word. he's only an inch deep, but you know it's better than anything you've ever had before. he knows that, too—it's what makes him so confident.
"'ki, but you said—"
"angel, i say a whole lotta things. i definitely don't mean them all," he snorts, reaching down to rub your clit with his thumb. it makes your frown melt into an expression of bliss, the kind you only get from pleasure.
it doesn't help that riki's so pretty, and surely it doesn't make any of this easier. because he's the smug kind of pretty. the kind where he's fully aware and doesn't hesitate to use it to his own advantage.
it’s the way he looks at you like he already knows exactly what you’re thinking, and he’s just waiting for you to trip over your words first. it’s not even that he’s trying too hard; it’s just there, in that little tilt of his head or the way he lets a silence stretch out just a second too long.
he knows it gets under your skin. he knows it makes it impossible to actually stay mad at him, which is the worst part. you want to call him out on it, but then he smiles that specific way, and suddenly you’re the one who’s on the defensive.
trembling, you shake your head, though your resolve is wearing away. "friends don't fuck," you say, your tone hush.
"friends don't do whatever this is, either. if you're worrying about crossing some sort of line, i think we're a little far past that point."
you groan, burying your face in your hands. riki always has to go and make everything harder, doesn't he? in response, he just kisses your tit, and then your jaw, before finally pulling your hands into his.
"that doesn't make me feel better," you mumble.
"it wasn't really supposed to. i'm being honest, sweets. we're gonna be fine. we're gonna be okay."
finally, you sigh, "well, okay. i guess—"
you're cut off by his cock abruptly slamming straight into you, without so much as a warning. you cry out, back arching up as you sink your nails into the biceps of his arms.
mid-moan, you gasp, "what the fuck, riki!"
"sorry, fuck, sorry," he grunts, but by the way he isn't slowing down, you don't know if he means it. "ripped the bandaid off, angel."
riki leans down to capture your lips in a sloppy, wet kiss, swallowing the noises you make. with every ram of his hips against yours, you can feel his dick kisses your cervix, the way he throbs inside you, how his pelvis grinds against your clit.
he groans against your lips, "gonna make you cum so good, you'll forget to be mad at me."
you ride him until you can’t take it anymore, so he makes you beg before he finally decides to help
⌗ 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓. mdni, explicit content, dom!riki, sub!reader, riding, degradation, humiliation, dirty talk, begging, manhandling, unprotected p in v, creampie, cum play, cum eating
( 🐈⬛ ) any feedback is welcome, i'd really appreciate it
You’re already soaked — dripping, honestly — when the thick head of his cock slides through your folds teasingly, and the second you start sinking down he lets out a low sound, half moan and half laugh, because having you on top is always fun for him.
Slowly, every thick inch stretches you, forcing your pussy to make room, and when your ass is flush against his thighs he’s so deep it causes a small, delicious ache in your stomach.
"Fuck, look at that… sitting on my cock like you were born for it," he murmurs, watching where you’re stretched open around him. "Your pretty little hole is swallowing me up. Go on then, baby. Show me how pretty you look riding me."
You start moving — lifting until only the swollen tip is left inside, then dropping down with a wet, filthy slap that makes both of you moan. It feels amazing at first — hands braced on his chest, fingers spreading over the muscles while you roll your hips and bounce, searching for that angle that drags over the perfect spot inside you every single time.
Riki just leans back against the pillows with one arm behind his head, the other lazily reaching up to pinch your nipple and then slap the side of your ass once you find a good rhythm. "Baby, your pussy’s squeezing me so tight every time you drop down… gripping like it doesn’t want to let me go. You love this, don’t you? Being stuffed full of me."
You nod, already out of breath, already starting to sweat. "Yes… yes, Riki."
He grins, amused. "Louder. Tell me how much you love my cock stretching you open."
"It feels so fucking good," you pant, speeding up. The wet sounds fill the room — slick, filthy, and constant every time you sink down. Your clit rubs against him on every downward motion, building fast, that hot pressure growing in your belly.
For a while, everything is perfect. You’re riding him hard, hair stuck to your damp forehead, little broken moans slipping out of both of you every time he bottoms out and sinks deep.
Then your thighs start to burn.
At first it’s just a mild burn you try to ignore, so you keep bouncing, keep chasing that peak. But the ache spreads, stronger and more insistent, and suddenly lifting yourself takes more effort than it should, making your rhythm falter.
You try to push through it, dropping down harder to compensate, but your legs are shaking now and the confident bounce from a minute ago is turning into something more clumsy, more messy.
Riki notices right away — of course he does — his eyes lighting up with amusement as that wicked little smirk forms on his mouth. "What’s wrong? You just got started. Don’t tell me those pretty legs are already giving out."
"I’m… I’m fine," you manage to say, trying to force your hips to keep moving like before.
You rise halfway and your thighs tremble so hard you almost lose your balance, falling back down with a small, clumsy bounce that doesn’t feel nearly as good — just an awkward, wet slide that leaves you full, but not fucked the way you need.
Riki laughs under his breath, low and delighted. "Look at you." His hands stay right where they are, on your hips, not helping, just holding, while he watches you struggle. "Poor thing… those pretty legs already giving out? I thought you wanted to ride me so bad."
Gritting your teeth and trying again, you push with everything you’ve got and make it halfway before your muscles just give up. You sink back down with a frustrated, needy sound, his cock still buried deep inside you, stretching you while you sit there, useless.
"I can do it," you insist, voice a little desperate. "Just… give me a—"
"No." He doesn’t even pretend to be nice. "Keep going. Figure it out. You wanted to ride me so bad, remember? Climbed on top of me like you could handle it. So ride. Don’t just sit there like a useless cumdump with my cock stuffed in you."
His words hit you right between the legs and somehow make everything hotter instead of humiliating. You try again — push up and manage a few small bounces that are more friction than actual riding.
Riki’s cock slides in and out of you in short, uneven strokes and it’s still good, still stretches you perfectly, but it doesn’t come close to the hard, deep fucking you were giving yourself a minute ago. You’re dripping onto his balls now, making a mess of both of you.
"That’s not bouncing," he says, voice dripping with amusement. "That’s lazy grinding. I want to feel you bouncing on my cock like you actually mean it. Come on… Up and down. Up and down. It’s not that hard. Or is it? Is my cock too big for you to handle when you have to do the work?"
You moan, trying harder until your arms start shaking too from bracing on his chest. Every time you manage to lift yourself, he just watches with that same cruel little smirk, not offering a single bit of help — just holding your hips and feeling you struggle. "Riki—"
"What? Need something, baby?" He tilts his head, pretending to be confused. "That pretty little brain of yours stopped working the second my cock went in you, huh? Can’t even talk right when you’re this full…"
"My legs… are shaking," you admit, voice low, frustrated and already starting to crack. "I can’t… I can’t keep going like this.
"Aw. So weak." He squeezes your hips, holding you right there so you feel every inch of him pulsing inside your stretched pussy. "Look at you. You’re stuck, can’t even lift yourself off my cock anymore. That’s so fucking pathetic. Poor baby thought she could ride a cock and now she’s just sitting here, dripping and useless."
You lean forward, try to use more of your arms, manage two small clumsy lifts before your thighs give out completely and you collapse back down.
His cock pulses inside you like it’s laughing at you too because you’re so wet it’s embarrassing — slick and shiny, dripping down over his balls.
"Please," you whisper, face burning.
"Please what?"
Your voice comes out small and needy. "Help me, just… move me, or thrust up. I can’t do it by myself anymore."
Riki’s smile is pure malice. "No. I like watching you struggle. It’s cute. So keep trying."
You do — God, you do — lifting with shaky legs, falling, lifting again, each attempt weaker than the last until you’re basically just squirming on top of him, barely moving with his cock still buried deep in your pulsing, soaked pussy and tears of frustration pricking at the corners of your eyes. "Riki, please… I need help. My legs can’t take it anymore. Please, just… fuck me, I’ll do anything, just help me."
He hums like he’s considering it. "Anything, huh? Beg properly then. Let me hear how much you need it."
You’re past pride at this point — your pussy is pulsing around him and the need is almost painful now that you’ve stopped moving.
"Please, Riki," you beg, voice thick and face hot with shame. "Please help me. Please fuck me. I need you to use me, I’ll be good, I’ll take it however you want, just help me bounce on your cock again. Please, I’ll be your little sex toy, just don’t leave me sitting here dripping."
He lets the begging hang in the air for a few long, humiliating seconds, just watching you sit there shaking and full of him, cheeks flushed, eyes watery, completely at his mercy, then he laughs, low and cruel.
"That’s what I wanted to hear." He lifts you like you weigh nothing and drops you back down hard, making you cry out as his cock sinks deep. "Had to beg just to keep getting fucked, dumb baby."
He starts moving you, using your body like a toy — lifting you until only the tip is stretching your entrance, then dropping you back down onto his cock over and over while you cling to his shoulders and moan uncontrollably. "Couldn’t even finish riding me by yourself… so pathetic. You thought you were gonna bounce on this cock until I came, and instead you lasted what, three minutes? How cute."
You can only moan, nod, and take the way he bounces you on his cock. Throughout the thrusts he keeps mocking you — calling you weak, calling you a lazy slut, saying how sad it is that your pretty legs gave out so fast, how your pussy is still dripping for him anyway — and every filthy word makes your pussy clench tighter around him.
"You gonna cum like this?" he asks, slamming you down hard so you feel every inch dragging along your walls. "Gonna cum while I do all the work because you’re too tired to ride?"
"Yes, yes, I’m gonna cum… please don’t stop. It feels so good."
He keeps using you, keeps bouncing you on his cock like you weigh nothing, until the pleasure finally explodes and you cum hard around him, shaking, crying out and clenching so tight he groans.
Your pussy milks him in little pulses while he fucks you without stopping, still lifting and dropping you, still murmuring how weak, pathetic and perfect you look falling apart on his cock.
The grip on your hips gets hard enough to hurt, and he growls low in his throat as he drops you down one last time and holds you there, buried to the hilt. "Take every drop like a good girl."
Thick, hot pulses flood deep inside you, painting your walls while he uses your limp body to milk himself.
Riki doesn’t give you more than a few seconds to catch your breath before he moves. One second you’re still collapsed on his chest and the next he’s flipping you onto your back. He hovers over you, bracing one hand beside your head while the other stays firm on your thigh.
He reaches between your legs, wraps his fingers around the base of his cock and slowly — fucking slowly — pulls it out. You feel every thick inch drag along your sensitive, swollen walls, and the second the head pops free, a thick, hot gush of cum follows it.
Your pussy clenches hard around nothing, with little spasms, and more of it leaks out in slow, messy pulses. You can feel it dripping, thick and sticky, leaking from your cunt and running down, straight toward that tight little hole between your cheeks.
Riki just stares — dark eyes, lips parted, completely focused on the way your pussy keeps pushing out his cum in little contractions. "Fuck… look at that. Your greedy hole can’t even hold it in. Look how much of me you’re wasting."
You moan, thighs shaking, face burning, and try to close your legs a little out of pure shame. But he doesn’t let you — the hand on your thigh squeezes hard, then starts slowly stroking the sore, trembling muscle that gave out earlier.
His fingers slide down, carefully gathering the white fluid that leaked out of you — a bit of the sticky trail sliding toward your ass, a bit from your folds — and then pushes two fingers back into your pussy.
You gasp at the sudden stretch, still so sensitive it’s almost too much, and he just watches your face while he works his cum back inside you, slow and careful. He curls his fingers, scoops, pushes deeper, making sure every drop gets shoved back where he wants it.
"There, back where it belongs," he says, voice rough with satisfaction as he feels you squirm helplessly around his fingers. "Not gonna let it go to waste just because your pussy’s too fucked out to hold it. Stay open for me. That’s it… take it back. Good girl."
He keeps pushing more in until your hole is full again, only then does he pull his fingers out — shiny and covered in cum mixed with your own slick. Without warning he brings them straight to your mouth. "Open."
You hesitate for half a second and he raises an eyebrow, the hand on your thigh giving a small squeeze that makes the ache come back. You part your lips and he slides those two fingers onto your tongue, pressing enough that you taste everything — his cum, your own wetness.
He watches with satisfaction as you suck, hollowing your cheeks, tongue working between his fingers. "That’s it, good girl. Get every drop."
When he finally pulls his fingers out, they’re shiny with your spit, so he wipes them on the inside of your thigh, right over the sore muscle, spreading the wetness on your skin, then leans in so his mouth is close to your ear. “Next time you wanna ride, try not to be so pathetic and last more than three minutes.”
◟✿ heesung ˒ The dorm was wrapped in that late night hush, the kind that only came after long practices and schedules that stretched into the early hours. The faint hum of the air conditioner mixed with the distant city sounds filtering through the window. Heeseung had just showered, towel still draped around his neck, droplets of water tracing lazy paths down his toned chest and abs as he stepped into the bedroom. His hair was damp, messy in that effortlessly sexy way, and he wore nothing but loose black sweatpants that hung low on his hips.
You were already in his bed, wearing only his favorite oversized black shirt that barely reached mid thigh. The moment he closed the door behind him, you moved.You rose to your knees, caught his wrist, and pulled him down onto the mattress with you. Heeseung let out a soft, surprised chuckle, his deep voice rumbling.“Missed me that bad, baby?” he murmured, settling back against the pillows as you climbed over him.
But you didn’t answer with words. Instead, your hand slipped into his sweatpants, wrapping around his half hard length. He inhaled sharply, eyes fluttering for a second as you stroked him slowly to full hardness. Within moments he was thick and heavy in your palm, veins pulsing under your fingers. You pushed his waistband down just enough, positioned yourself over him, and sank down in one smooth, deliberate motion.
Heeseung’s cock stretched you open, filling you completely until your ass rested against his thighs, every inch buried deep inside your warm, wet heat. No thrusts no bouncing just staying perfectly still with him sheathed to the hilt.
“Fuck—” Heeseung’s voice broke into a low groan, his hands flying to your hips instantly, fingers digging into the soft flesh as if to ground himself. His eyes widened, dark and intense, locking onto yours with that signature leader intensity. His chest rose and fell rapidly, breath already ragged. “Y/N you’re so fucking warm so tight around me right now.”
For a long moment, neither of you moved. The only sounds were your mingled breathing and the faint wet sound of your bodies adjusting to each other. Heeseung’s cock twitched hard inside you, thickening even more at the sudden enveloping heat. You could feel every ridge, every vein, the way his pulse beat steadily against your inner walls. Your own pussy fluttered involuntarily around him, clenching and releasing in little pulses that made his jaw tighten.
Heeseung’s hands slid up under the shirt you wore his shirt—tracing the curve of your waist, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. “You initiating this?” he whispered, voice dropping into that dangerously low register that always sent shivers down your spine. A slow, predatory smirk tugged at his lips, the one that made fans scream and made your stomach twist with want. “No warning, just sliding down on my cock like you own it my greedy girl I love it.”
He pulled you closer until your chests pressed together, your nipples hardening against him through the thin fabric. His lips found your neck, pressing open mouthed kisses along the column of your throat, sucking gently at your pulse point. Every tiny shift of your body caused delicious friction—his cock nudging deeper without any real thrusting. Heeseung let out a shaky exhale against your skin.
“Stay still like this for me,” he murmured, one hand moving to cup the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. “I want to feel everything how wet you’re getting how you’re squeezing me.” He flexed his hips in the tiniest circle, barely perceptible, but enough to make you both gasp. “Shit, you feel incredible like velvet fire around my cock.”
Minutes stretched out. Heeseung was always patient in moments like this teasing, savoring, drawing out the pleasure until it bordered on torture. He kept you locked in place with strong arms, his body heat mingling with yours. His free hand roamed lazily: squeezing your ass, tracing your spine, rolling a nipple between his fingers until you whimpered softly. Each sound you made earned you a deep, appreciative groan from him.
“You’re dripping down my balls already,” he observed in that husky tone, voice vibrating against your ear. He reached between your bodies just enough to feel where you were joined, collecting some of your slick on his fingers and bringing them to his mouth. His eyes never left yours as he licked them clean. “Taste so sweet for me all this just from having me inside you?”
The praise made you clench harder around him. Heeseung’s head fell back against the pillow, exposing the sharp line of his jaw and the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed thickly. “That’s it keep doing that. Milk my cock while we stay like this.” His restraint was impressive, but you could feel the tension coiling in his muscles—the way his thighs trembled slightly beneath you, the constant subtle twitches of his length buried deep.
He kissed you then—slow, deep, and filthy. His tongue slid against yours in the same unhurried rhythm he used when he wanted to drive you crazy. One hand stayed on your hip, holding you down firmly so you couldn’t ride him even if you tried. The other tangled in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss. When he pulled back, a string of saliva connected your lips for a second.
“I’ve thought about this,” he confessed quietly, forehead pressed to yours. “Coming home and having you warm my cock while we talk about our day feeling you pulse around me for hours.” His voice was pure velvet. “You’re perfect so fucking perfect for me.”
Time blurred ten minutes fifteen twenty. Heeseung kept up the intimate conversation, whispering filthy observations mixed with sweet nothings. How your walls fluttered when he praised you. How he could feel you getting wetter with every passing second. How much he loved being this connected, skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat. Occasionally he’d roll his hips in minute movements just enough to grind against that sensitive spot inside you without breaking the cockwarming stillness.
Your breathing grew heavier, matching his. Sweat began to bead on his chest where your bodies pressed together. Heeseung’s eyes were half lidded, dark with lust, but there was also that soft affection he reserved only for you the way he stroked your cheek with his thumb, the gentle kisses he pressed to your temple.
“You’re shaking,” he noted with a soft laugh, the sound low and affectionate. “Am I that deep, baby? Filling you up so good you can’t even think?” He flexed again, deliberately this time, making his cock jump inside you. The sensation drew a broken moan from your throat. Heeseung’s smirk widened. “Good girl let me hear you.”
The tension built unbearably. Your clit throbbed against his pelvis, aching for friction, but he kept you pinned, savoring the slow burn. Heeseung’s breathing was ragged now, control fraying at the edges. His hands gripped you tighter, almost bruising.
“I don’t know how much longer I can stay still,” he admitted, voice strained. “You feel too fucking good so hot and tight sucking me in like you never want me to leave.” He kissed you again, harder this time, more desperate. His hips gave a small, involuntary thrust upward, pushing him impossibly deeper.
You clenched hard in response, and Heeseung groaned loudly, the sound echoing in the quiet room. “Fuck, do that again.” When you did, his resolve cracked. He rolled you both suddenly, still connected, pinning you beneath his larger frame without ever pulling out. The new position let him press even deeper, the head of his cock nudging against your cervix.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly, elbows braced on either side of your head. His damp hair fell forward, framing his handsome face. “I need to move now need to fuck you properly after feeling you warm me for so long.”
What followed was intense. Heeseung started with slow, deep thrusts pulling out just enough to feel your walls drag along his length before sliding back home. Each stroke was deliberate, savoring the glide. His pace gradually increased, hips snapping with controlled power. The wet sounds of your bodies meeting filled the room, mixed with his low grunts and your moans.
“You started this,” he panted against your neck, biting down gently. “Taking my cock like that the second I walked in such a naughty girl.” One hand slipped between you, thumb circling your clit in tight spirals. “Come for me while I’m inside you want to feel you fall apart around my cock.”
The orgasm hit you hard, walls spasming violently around him. Heeseung cursed, burying his face in your shoulder as he fucked you through it, prolonging the pleasure. His own release followed soon after deep, powerful thrusts that pushed him to the hilt as he spilled inside you, groaning your name in that beautiful, wrecked voice.
Afterwards, he didn’t pull out immediately. Heeseung stayed buried deep, collapsing half on top of you with his weight comforting rather than crushing. He pressed soft kisses to your face, your lips, your eyelids, whispering praises.
“You’re amazing,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “I love when you take control like that. Love feeling so close to you.” His fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin as you both came down, still intimately connected. The afterglow stretched long, warm, and full of quiet affection.
Heeseung eventually shifted to lie on his side, pulling you with him so you stayed spooned together, his cock softening but still nestled inside you. “We’re sleeping like this tonight,” he decided with a sleepy, satisfied smile. “Don’t want to lose this feeling.”
The room grew quiet again, filled only with your synced breathing and the occasional soft kiss. Heeseung held you like you were the most precious thing in his world leader, lover, and the man who had just been completely undone by your bold initiation.
◟✿ jay ˒ The living room in the dorm was dimly lit, the only light coming from the large TV screen paused on Jay’s game. The rest of the members had gone to bed or out, leaving the space quiet except for the low hum of the city outside and the occasional click of the controller. Jay was sprawled on the wide couch in black sweatpants and a loose white tee, one arm draped over the backrest, looking effortlessly handsome with his sharp jawline and focused dark eyes. His hair was slightly tousled from running his fingers through it during the match.
You had been watching him from the doorway for a few minutes, heat pooling low in your belly at the sight of his relaxed posture and the way the fabric of his sweats outlined his thighs. Without warning, you crossed the room, climbed onto the couch, and straddled his lap. Jay’s eyebrows rose in surprise, a small smirk already forming on his lips.
“Hey, what’s—?” he started, but the words died when your hand slipped inside his waistband, pulling his cock free. He was already half hard from the way you’d been looking at him earlier. You stroked him firmly a few times until he was fully erect thick, veined, and heavy in your grip then positioned yourself and sank down in one smooth, deliberate motion.
Jay’s cock stretched you open deliciously, filling every inch until you were seated flush against him, his length buried to the hilt inside your tight, wet cunt. No movement just pure cockwarming.
“Shit—!” Jay’s head slammed back against the couch cushions, a sharp groan tearing from his throat. His hands shot to your waist instantly, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. His eyes flew open wide, dark and blown with lust as he stared at you in shock and raw hunger. “Y/N… fuck, you just— you took me all the way in like that?”
His voice was rough, that slight American accent thickening with arousal. For several long seconds, he didn’t move, simply breathing through the overwhelming sensation of your walls enveloping him completely—hot, slick, and pulsing around his cock. You could feel him twitch and swell even thicker inside you, the head pressing firmly against your deepest point.
Jay let out a shaky, impressed laugh, his chest rising and falling rapidly under you. “Bold as hell initiating cockwarming right in the middle of my game? You’re something else, princess.” His hands slid down to grip your ass possessively, squeezing the soft flesh as he adjusted his posture slightly, spreading his thighs wider so you sank even deeper. The new angle made both of you moan softly.
He looked down between your joined bodies where you were connected, then slowly dragged his gaze back up to your face. “You’re so fucking wet already. I can feel it dripping down my balls.” Jay’s voice dropped lower, husky and teasing. One hand slipped under the hem of the oversized shirt you wore his shirt again and traced up your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “No warning just sliding that pretty pussy down on my cock and staying there. You missed me that much huh ?”
You stayed perfectly still, savoring the intimate fullness. Jay’s cock throbbed steadily inside you, matching his quickened heartbeat. He pulled you closer until your chests pressed together, his lips finding yours in a slow, deep kiss that quickly turned filthy. His tongue explored your mouth with the same controlled intensity he brought to everything precise, overwhelming, leaving you breathless.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “We’re doing this properly then,” he murmured, voice vibrating against your skin. “Stay right there don’t move.” His restraint was impressive he didn’t thrust up into you despite the obvious need. Instead, he focused on the connection, rolling his hips in tiny, lazy circles that created the barest friction enough to make your walls flutter around him without breaking the cockwarming stillness.
“God, you feel incredible,” Jay whispered, lips brushing your ear. “So warm and tight… like you were made to warm my cock like this.” His hands roamed everywhere cupping your breasts through the shirt, thumbs circling your hardening nipples until you whimpered. He pinched lightly, drawing a gasp from you that made his cock jump inside your heat. “That’s it squeeze me just like that I want to feel every little pulse.”
The minutes stretched deliciously. Jay was vocal, whispering a constant stream of praise and filth in that low, accented tone that always melted you. “You’re getting wetter every second. Soaking my sweats already.” He reached between you, fingers grazing where you were stretched around him, collecting your slick before bringing it to your lips. “Taste how much you want this.” His eyes darkened as you sucked his fingers clean.
He kissed along your jaw, down your neck, sucking marks into your skin while staying buried deep. Every tiny shift of your body earned a quiet curse from him. “Fuck, princess you’re clenching so hard. Trying to pull me even deeper?” Jay’s self-control was fraying at the edges you could feel the tension in his thighs, the way his abs flexed under you but he held you firmly in place, one arm wrapped around your waist like a steel band.
“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he confessed between kisses, voice rough. “Practice was long, but coming home to this? You sinking down on me and keeping me warm best surprise ever.” He flexed deliberately, making his cock nudge against that sensitive spot inside you. The sensation drew a broken moan from your throat. Jay smirked against your neck. “Sensitive there, huh? Good. I want you aching for me while we stay like this.”
Fifteen minutes passed twenty. Jay kept the slow burn going, alternating between deep kisses and soft, affectionate ones. His hands never stopped moving—stroking your back, squeezing your thighs, occasionally tilting your hips just enough to grind subtly. Sweat started to bead on his forehead, his white tee clinging slightly to his chest. The room felt hotter, thicker with tension.
“You’re trembling,” he observed, pulling back to look at you with those intense eyes. A cocky, affectionate smile tugged at his lips. “Am I too big like this? Stretching you so full you can’t think straight?” He rolled his hips again in that maddeningly small motion. “I could stay buried in you for hours. Just feeling how perfect you are around me.”
Your clit throbbed against his pelvis, desperate for more friction, but Jay kept you pinned, drawing out the anticipation. His breathing grew ragged, control slipping. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold back,” he admitted, voice strained. “You feel too fucking good. Hot, wet, squeezing my cock like you never want me to leave.”
He kissed you harder then, more desperate, tongue sliding against yours as his hips gave a small involuntary thrust. The movement pushed him impossibly deeper, making you both groan loudly. Jay’s hands gripped your ass tighter. “Fuck it,” he growled softly.
In one fluid motion, he flipped you onto your back on the couch without pulling out, his body covering yours. The new position let him press even deeper, the head of his cock kissing your cervix. Jay braced himself on his elbows, staring down at you with dark, hungry eyes.
“Look at me,” he commanded, voice low and authoritative. His damp hair fell forward as he started moving—slow, deep thrusts at first, pulling out just enough to feel your walls drag along every inch before sliding back home. The wet, obscene sounds of your bodies meeting filled the living room.
“You started this,” Jay panted, snapping his hips harder. “Taking my cock the second you wanted it such a greedy princess.” One hand slipped between you, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight, perfect circles. “Come on my cock. Want to feel you fall apart while I’m still so deep inside you.”
The pleasure built fast and intense. Your orgasm crashed over you, walls spasming violently around his thick length. Jay cursed loudly, fucking you through it with powerful, controlled strokes. “That’s it—fuck, just like that. So good for me.”
His own release followed soon after. Jay buried himself to the hilt, hips stuttering as he came deep inside you with a low, guttural groan of your name. You felt every pulse, every spurt of warmth filling you.
Afterwards, Jay didn’t pull out right away. He collapsed half on top of you, careful not to crush you, and pressed soft, lazy kisses to your lips, your cheeks, your forehead. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, voice hoarse and satisfied. “Love when you take what you want like that.”
He stayed nestled inside you as he shifted you both to a more comfortable position on the couch, spooning you against his chest. His arms wrapped around you protectively, one hand gently stroking your thigh. “We’re staying like this for a while longer,” he decided with a lazy, content smile. “Don’t want to lose this feeling yet.”
The TV remained paused and forgotten. Jay nuzzled into your neck, whispering sweet nothings mixed with more praise as the afterglow settled over both of you—warm, intimate, and full of quiet affection. His cock softened slowly inside you, but he made no move to separate, content to keep you connected as long as possible.
◟✿ jake ˒ The bedroom was softly lit by a single bedside lamp, casting a warm golden glow over the rumpled sheets. Jake had just returned from a late dance practice, his body tired but still buzzing with leftover energy. He was lying on his back in bed, shirtless in just a pair of gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips, one arm slung over his eyes as he tried to unwind. His messy brown hair was damp with sweat, and his toned abs rose and fell with steady breaths. The faint scent of his body wash—clean and slightly citrusy lingered in the air.
You had been waiting for him, heart racing with anticipation. The moment he settled in, you moved quietly, climbing onto the bed and straddling his lap without a word. Jake stirred, lifting his arm with a sleepy, affectionate smile. “Hey, baby missed y—”
The words cut off in a sharp inhale as your hand slipped into his sweatpants, freeing his cock. He was already semi hard from the casual closeness, and a few strokes had him fully erect thick, long, and flushed. You positioned yourself over him and sank down slowly but deliberately, taking every inch until your hips met his and his cock was buried completely inside your tight, welcoming cunt.
Jake’s eyes flew open wide, a mix of shock and instant pleasure flashing across his handsome face. “Oh my god—babe!” His voice cracked beautifully, that bright Australian accent thickening with arousal. His hands shot to your thighs instantly, fingers gripping the soft flesh as his back arched slightly off the bed. “Fuck… you’re so warm so fucking warm and tight around me right now.”
For a long moment, he just stared up at you, lips parted, chest heaving. A bright blush crept up his neck and across his cheeks, but his eyes sparkled with pure lust and adoration. His cock twitched hard inside you, swelling even thicker as your walls fluttered and adjusted to his size. You could feel every ridge, every vein pulsing against your inner walls, the head pressed deep.
Jake let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh, the sound warm and husky. “You just… slid down on me like that? No warning, nothing?” He bit his lip, eyes darkening as he looked down to where your bodies were joined. “Jesus, princess…you feel incredible like heaven. I love when you surprise me like this.”
His hands slid up your thighs to your waist, pulling you down flush against him so your chests pressed together. The oversized shirt you wore his, of course rode up, and he slipped his hands underneath, palms warm and slightly calloused from practice as they roamed your bare skin. “Stay like this,” he whispered, voice already rough. “Don’t move yet. I want to feel all of you every little squeeze.”
Jake was affectionate even in the filthiest moments. He pulled you into a deep kiss slow and sweet at first, full of that warmth, then growing more heated as his tongue tangled with yours. His hips gave one tiny, involuntary roll, nudging deeper without breaking the stillness. The sensation drew matching gasps from both of you.
“You’re already so wet,” he murmured against your lips, forehead resting against yours. “I can feel it. You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you? My sweet girl initiating cockwarming the second I get home.” His smile was bright and playful, but his voice carried that low, needy edge. One hand cupped the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair while the other squeezed your ass possessively, holding you in place.
He stayed perfectly still for long minutes, savoring the intimate connection. His cock throbbed steadily inside your heat, and every time your walls clenched around him whether from pleasure or on purpose he let out a soft, wrecked groan. “That’s it… just like that keep pulsing around me. Feels so good, baby.”
Jake’s hands never stopped moving gentle but exploratory. He traced your spine under the shirt, cupped your breasts and rolled your nipples between his fingers until they pebbled. He kissed everywhere he could reach your lips, your jaw, the sensitive spot beneath your ear, your collarbone. Between kisses, he whispered constant praise in that addictive accent.
“You’re so perfect for me. So tight and hot like you were made to warm my cock.” He flexed deliberately inside you, making his length jump and nudge that sweet spot. The tiny movement sent sparks through both of you. “Mmm, hear that little whimper? I love it love how full you feel with me inside.”
The cockwarming stretched on Jake’s usual playful energy mixed with deepening desire. Sweat began to glisten on his chest where your bodies were pressed together. His breathing grew heavier, but he held you firmly, refusing to let you ride him yet. “Not yet,” he’d murmur with a teasing grin whenever you shifted. “I want to enjoy this a little longer. Just feeling you around me… so wet and snug.”
He reached between your bodies once, fingers grazing your stretched folds where you took him so deeply. Collecting some of your slick, he brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them clean, eyes locked on yours the entire time. “Tastes so sweet all this because my cock is buried in you? God, I’m lucky.”
Your clit throbbed against his pelvis, aching for friction, but Jake kept the slow burn alive. He rolled his hips in maddeningly small circles barely any movement, but enough to grind subtly and keep the pleasure building. “You’re shaking already,” he observed softly, affection clear in his voice. “Am I that deep, baby? Stretching you so good you’re trembling on top of me?”
The tension coiled tighter. Jake’s control was fraying despite his sweet demeanor. His thighs tensed beneath you, abs flexing as he fought the urge to thrust. “I don’t think I can stay still much longer,” he admitted, voice strained and husky. “You feel too fucking amazing. Hot, wet, squeezing me like you never want me to pull out.”
He kissed you desperately then, tongue sliding deep as his hips gave a small involuntary buck. The movement pushed him impossibly deeper, drawing loud moans from both of you. Jake’s hands gripped your hips tighter. “Fuck… okay, I need you.”
In one smooth motion, he rolled you both over without pulling out, settling on top while staying fully sheathed. The new position let gravity press him even deeper, the head of his cock kissing your cervix. Jake braced himself on his elbows, messy hair falling forward as he looked down at you with bright, lust-filled eyes and that heart-melting smile.
“Eyes on me, beautiful,” he whispered, starting to move slow, deep thrusts at first. He pulled back just enough for your walls to drag along his length before sliding home again, the wet sounds of your connection filling the quiet room. His pace was enthusiastic and passionate, exactly like Jake—full of energy and focus on your pleasure.
“You started this,” he panted, lips brushing yours between thrusts. “Climbing on me and taking my cock so perfectly such a good girl.” One hand slipped between you, thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing perfect, tight circles in time with his strokes. “Come for me while I’m this deep. Want to feel you milking my cock.”
The orgasm hit you hard and fast, walls spasming violently around his thick cock. Jake groaned loudly, the sound raw and beautiful as he fucked you through it, hips snapping with controlled power. “Yes—fuck, just like that. So tight, baby so perfect.”
His own climax followed soon after. Jake buried himself to the hilt, hips stuttering as he came deep inside you with a long, throaty moan of your name. You felt every pulse, every warm spurt filling you as he trembled above you.
Afterwards, Jake didn’t pull out. He collapsed gently on top of you, careful with his weight, and buried his face in your neck. Soft, lazy kisses peppered your skin your shoulder, your jaw, your lips. “You’re amazing,” he murmured, voice hoarse and full of affection. “I love when you take initiative like that feeling you warm me… best way to end the night.”
He shifted carefully, pulling you with him so you were spooned against his chest, his cock still nestled softly inside you. His arms wrapped around you securely, one hand gently stroking your thigh and hip. “We’re staying like this,” he decided with a sleepy, satisfied grin, nuzzling into your hair. “Don’t want to lose this closeness yet feels too good to let go”
The room fell into comfortable quiet, filled with your synced breathing and occasional soft whispers. Jake pressed gentle kisses to the back of your neck, murmuring how much he loved you, how perfect you felt, how he could stay connected like this forever. His body heat enveloped you, the afterglow warm and lingering as you both drifted toward sleep intimately joined, content, and utterly satisfied.
◟✿ sunghoon ˒ The dorm’s private gym corner in the basement level was quiet and dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a single overhead LED strip that cast cool, bluish tones across the mirrored walls. Sunghoon had stayed back after the others left, working on his core strength and flexibility routines that kept his figure skating precision sharp even in idol life. Sweat glistened on his skin, his black tank top clinging to his lean, sculpted torso and his loose training shorts riding low on his narrow hips. His dark hair was damp, pushed back from his forehead, and his sharp jaw was set in concentration as he finished a set of planks, breathing controlled and steady.
You had slipped down quietly to find him, drawn by the low sounds of his exertion. The air smelled of clean sweat and the faint citrus of his post workout spray. Without announcing yourself, you waited until he rolled onto his back to stretch his hip flexors, legs bent and slightly apart. That was your moment. You moved swiftly, straddling his waist and tugging his shorts and briefs down just enough to free his cock.
Sunghoon’s eyes snapped open, dark and intense, as your hand stroked him quickly to full hardness long, thick, and curving slightly upward. Before he could form a question, you lined him up and sank down in one fluid, deliberate glide, enveloping every inch until you were fully seated, your ass flush against his pelvis. His cock was buried to the hilt inside your slick heat.
A sharp hiss escaped Sunghoon’s lips, his hands instinctively flying to your hips, fingers pressing hard into your skin. His usual cool, princely composure shattered in an instant. “Y/N—” His voice came out strained, lower than usual, almost a growl. His eyes widened, pupils dilating rapidly as the overwhelming sensation hit him your walls hugging him so tightly, so warmly, pulsing around his length without any movement.
He stayed frozen beneath you for several heartbeats, chest heaving, abs contracting visibly under the tank top. The position him on his back on the cool gym mat, you perched perfectly on his cock made everything feel impossibly deep. “You… you really just took me like that? Right here?” Surprise laced his tone, but it quickly melted into dark arousal. A faint blush colored his sharp cheekbones, contrasting his typically icy visuals.
Sunghoon’s hands trembled slightly as they gripped you, holding you down so neither of you could shift. His cock throbbed powerfully inside your pussy, swelling thicker at the sudden intimate embrace. You could feel every ridge, the subtle curve pressing against your front wall, his heartbeat pulsing through the vein along his shaft. The mirrored walls around you reflected the scene back endlessly your bodies joined, his long legs stretched out beneath you.
“Fuck… you’re burning hot around me,” he whispered, voice husky and amazed. He licked his lips, gaze dropping to where you were stretched so obscenely around him. One hand slid up your thigh, pushing the hem of your thin dress higher, exposing more skin. “No prep, no talking… just sinking onto my cock after my workout so fucking bold tonight.”
Sunghoon didn’t immediately pull you down for kisses. He was more visual, more sensory. He kept you upright on him, eyes roaming your body as he adjusted his breathing. His fingers traced slow patterns on your thighs, then higher, thumbs brushing dangerously close to your clit without touching. The stillness amplified everything the faint twitch of his cock, the way your walls fluttered in response, the shared heat building between your connected bodies.
“Stay exactly like this,” he commanded softly, that deep, velvety tone sending shivers through you. He flexed his hips in the tiniest upward tilt, barely noticeable but enough to nudge deeper, drawing a gasp from both of you. “I want to feel how wet you get just from holding me inside. Look at the mirror.” He nodded toward the wall. “Watch how perfectly you take me.”
You both turned your heads. The reflection was erotic Sunghoon’s lean, powerful body beneath you, sweat making his skin glow, his cock disappearing into your body. He groaned low at the sight, his free hand reaching to squeeze your ass, spreading you slightly for a better view. “So tight gripping me like you’re afraid I’ll disappear. But I’m not going anywhere.”
Minutes passed in charged silence broken only by soft breaths. Sunghoon was masterful at restraint years of skating discipline showing in how he held perfectly still while his body screamed for friction. But he wasn’t silent. He murmured observations in that precise, low voice, each word dripping with lust.
“Your pussy is dripping down my shaft already. I can feel it coating my balls.” He shifted one leg slightly, bending his knee to change the angle just enough to press against a new spot inside you. The subtle movement made you clench hard. Sunghoon’s head tipped back, exposing the elegant line of his neck as he swallowed thickly. “Again do that again.”
You obeyed, and he rewarded you with a rare, devastating smile half smirk, half genuine pleasure. His hands moved with purpose now one staying on your hip to anchor you, the other slipping under your dress to cup your breast, rolling the nipple between cool fingers. “Sensitive tonight. Everything feels heightened because we’re not moving, doesn’t it?” He pinched lightly, eyes locked on your face, drinking in every reaction.
The cockwarming dragged on deliciously. Sweat from his workout mixed with new beads of arousal on his skin. The gym mat stuck slightly to his back, but he didn’t care. Sunghoon’s usual aloofness cracked further with every passing second his breathing grew ragged, and his thighs tensed beneath you like coiled springs.
“You’re so warm and slick it’s driving me insane,” he confessed, voice breaking into a whisper. He reached up, pulling you down until your chests met, but still no real thrusting. Instead, he wrapped both arms around your waist, holding you impossibly close. His lips finally found your neck—not soft kisses, but deliberate, sucking bites that would leave faint marks. “I train for hours to stay controlled, but you come in here and undo all of it in seconds.”
He guided your head to his shoulder, letting you feel his rapid heartbeat against your cheek while his cock continued its constant, throbbing presence inside you. Every tiny involuntary clench from you earned a quiet curse or a sharp inhale. Sunghoon’s hand trailed down your back, fingers dancing along your spine before gripping your ass again, spreading you wider in the reflection.
“Look how deep I am,” he murmured, voice dark. “You’re taking all of me so well my perfect girl.” The praise was sparse but potent, delivered in that intensity. He flexed again, this time holding the tension longer, letting his curved tip grind subtly against your g-spot without pulling out. The pressure built unbearably, your clit aching where it pressed against his pelvis.
Your whimpers grew louder. Sunghoon’s control finally frayed. “I can’t… I need to feel more.” In a swift, powerful move, he rolled you both sideways on the mat, keeping his cock fully sheathed. Now on your sides facing each other, legs tangled, he hooked one of your thighs over his hip. The new angle allowed even deeper penetration, his body curving into yours.
Sunghoon stared into your eyes, foreheads nearly touching. “You initiated this. Now take what comes next.” He began moving—slow, rolling thrusts that never fully withdrew, keeping the connection intimate and constant. Each stroke was precise, controlled, hitting every sensitive spot with skater-like grace and power. The wet, slick sounds echoed softly in the empty gym space.
His hand slipped between you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing in tight, expert circles. “Come on my cock,” he demanded quietly, eyes never leaving yours. “I want to feel you squeeze me while I’m this deep.” The intensity built fast his lean muscles flexing, hips snapping with increasing force while still somehow maintaining that connected depth.
Your orgasm crashed over you suddenly, walls convulsing hard around his thick length. Sunghoon groaned, deep and guttural, fucking you through the waves with focused thrusts. “Yes… just like that so good—fuck.” His own release followed moments later. He buried himself as deep as possible, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you, warm pulses filling you while he held you tight against him.
Afterwards, Sunghoon stayed inside, not pulling out. He rolled onto his back again, bringing you on top once more, his arms wrapped securely around you. His breathing slowed gradually, fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back. The cool gym air contrasted with your heated bodies.
“That was unexpected,” he said softly, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips. His voice regained some of its usual calm, but affection warmed it. “I like when you catch me off guard. Makes me feel alive.” He pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to your temple, then your lips lingering and tender.
He didn’t move to separate. Instead, he reached for a nearby towel, draping it over your joined lower bodies casually. “We’ll stay like this until I say otherwise. I’m not ready to lose how warm you feel yet.” His hand stroked your hair, the other resting possessively on your ass, keeping you pinned.
The mirrors reflected your entwined forms in the low light. Sunghoon’s usual aura softened into quiet intimacy. He whispered occasional praises how perfect you felt, how he’d think about this during his next practice while his cock softened slowly inside you, still nestled comfortably. The afterglow stretched long, the gym quiet except for your breathing, creating a private world just for the two of you.
Eventually, he helped you up carefully, still connected, and carried you toward the elevator back to the main dorm levels, your legs wrapped around him. “Shower together later?” he suggested with a raised eyebrow, already planning to extend the closeness.
◟✿ sunoo ˒ The soft glow of string lights wrapped around the headboard filled Sunoo’s room with a warm, pinkish hue, creating a cozy, almost dreamy atmosphere. It was well past midnight, and the rest of the dorm had settled into silence after a long day of rehearsals. Sunoo had been unwinding in his favorite way sitting cross legged in the middle of his bed, a fluffy blanket draped over his lap, humming softly to himself while applying a sheet mask to his face. His skin was dewy from the recent cleanse, and he wore a loose white tank top paired with soft black shorts that rode up his thighs. His hair was slightly tousled, falling cutely over his forehead, and his expressive eyes sparkled with that signature Sunoo brightness even as he relaxed.
You entered quietly, drawn by the gentle melody he was humming one of their upcoming tracks. He glanced up with a bright smile, peeling the edge of the mask. “Hey~ You’re still up? Come here, I’ll share the mask—” But you had other plans. You crawled onto the bed, gently pushing his shoulders back until he was propped against the pile of pillows. Before he could react fully, you tugged his shorts down just enough, revealing his smooth, pretty cock. A few teasing strokes had him hardening quickly elegant and sensitive, responding beautifully to your touch.
Sunoo’s eyes widened in surprise, the sheet mask crinkling as his mouth formed a perfect ‘O’. You straddled him smoothly, pulling your own sleep shorts aside, and sank down onto him in one slow, intentional glide. Inch by inch, you took him until he was fully nestled inside your warm, slick walls, your hips flush against his. Pure cockwarming—no immediate movement, just the intimate, throbbing connection.
“Ahh—! Y/N…” Sunoo’s voice came out in a breathy, melodic gasp, higher-pitched than usual with shock and pleasure. His hands flew to your waist, fingers curling into the fabric of your top as his whole body tensed beneath you. The sheet mask slipped slightly on his cheek, but he didn’t bother fixing it. His cheeks flushed a deep pink almost instantly, that adorable blush spreading down his neck. “You… you really just sat on me like that? While I’m doing skincare?” A soft, disbelieving giggle escaped him, mixing cuteness with growing arousal.
His cock twitched vividly inside you, thickening and pulsing as your heat enveloped him completely. You could feel every subtle ridge, the way he fit so perfectly, like he was made for this closeness. Sunoo’s breathing quickened, his chest rising and falling under the thin tank top. He stared up at you with those large, expressive doe eyes, a mix of playful shock and deep want shining through.
“Wow… you’re so warm and tight right now,” he whispered, voice turning husky yet still retaining that sweet, bell like quality. He bit his plush lower lip, trying to stay composed, but the way his thighs shifted slightly underneath you betrayed him. Instead of immediately pulling you down for kisses, Sunoo reached up and gently adjusted his sheet mask with one hand, the other staying firmly on your hip to hold you still.
He let out another soft laugh, but it dissolved into a quiet moan as your walls fluttered around him involuntarily. The position him half reclined against pillows, you fully seated in his lap under the pretty string lights felt intimate and almost romantic. Sunoo’s free hand trailed up your side, slipping under your top to caress your bare skin with feather light touches. “Don’t move yet, okay? Let me feel you all of you holding me like this.”
True to his playful nature, Sunoo kept the moment light even as heat built between you. He tilted his head, studying your face with sparkling eyes while staying perfectly still. His cock continued to throb steadily inside your pussy, the sensation amplified by the lack of movement. “It feels like you’re hugging me from the inside,” he murmured sweetly, then giggled again when you clenched on purpose. “That’s cheating but I like it.”
Minutes ticked by in this dreamy haze. Sunoo was vocal and affectionate, filling the quiet room with whispered compliments and little hums. He finally peeled the sheet mask off completely, tossing it aside, revealing his glowing skin. “Look at us,” he said, nodding toward the mirror across the room that reflected your connected forms under the soft lights. “You look so pretty on me like this so full.”
His hands explored gently tracing your curves, cupping your breasts through the fabric, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they peaked. Each touch was tender yet teasing, never rushing. He leaned forward slightly to nuzzle your neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your collarbone while his hips remained motionless. The only “movement” came from subtle flexes—him deliberately pulsing his cock inside you, making you both gasp.
“You’re getting wetter I can feel it trickling down,” Sunoo observed in a hushed, almost reverent tone, his voice like velvet. “All because my cock is just sitting warm inside you? that’s so hot.” He sucked a small mark just below your ear, then pulled back to watch your reactions, his own face flushed and eyes half lidded with pleasure. The skincare scent mixed with the growing musk of arousal, creating an oddly intimate atmosphere unique to him.
Sunoo’s usual bright energy simmered into something deeper and needier. He started humming again softly a gentle melody that vibrated through his chest into yours while one hand slipped between your bodies without breaking the seal. His fingers hovered near your clit, teasing circles in the air just close enough to make you ache, but he didn’t touch fully yet. “Patience,” he teased with a cute pout, even as sweat beaded on his forehead. “I want to remember every second of you warming me so nicely.”
Your whimpers made his resolve waver. Sunoo’s breathing grew uneven, his plush lips parting as he fought the urge to thrust. “You feel too good so silky and hot. I could stay like this forever, just talking and feeling you squeeze me.” He finally cupped your face with both hands, pulling you into a slow, deep kiss. It was sweet at first then turned passionate, tongues gliding lazily in time with the subtle throbbing between your legs.
The tension coiled tighter. Sunoo’s thighs trembled beneath you, his lean body taut with restraint. “I’m trying so hard to be good,” he confessed against your mouth, voice breaking into a whine. “But you’re clenching so much it’s making me throb.” He rolled his hips in the smallest possible circle, grinding subtly against your front wall without pulling out. The motion drew a shared moan, the string lights casting shifting shadows across your skin.
Your clit pressed insistently against his pelvis, begging for friction. Sunoo noticed, his eyes darkening with desire while retaining that playful sparkle. “My baby needs more?” He finally let his fingers find your clit, rubbing slow, precise circles that matched the melody still humming in his throat. The dual sensation his cock buried deep and unmoving, plus the targeted touch pushed you closer to the edge.
Sunoo’s control snapped elegantly. “Okay I can’t hold back anymore.” With surprising strength, he shifted you both while staying fully sheathed, turning so you were on your back with him hovering above, still connected. The new angle let him press even deeper, his pretty face flushed and hovering close to yours. The blanket tangled around your legs, adding to the cozy mess.
He started moving slow, rolling thrusts that kept the intimacy intact, never fully withdrawing. Each stroke was graceful and rhythmic, like his dance moves translated into pleasure. “You started this surprise,” Sunoo panted softly, his voice melodic even now, “sinking onto me while I was masked up so naughty and cute.” His hips snapped a little sharper, hitting that perfect spot consistently.
One hand braced beside your head while the other continued teasing your clit. “Come for me like this,” he encouraged, eyes locked on yours with that intense yet loving gaze only. “I want to feel you pulse around my cock while it’s so deep.”
The orgasm washed over you in warm waves, your walls clamping down hard on his length. Sunoo moaned beautifully high and sweet fucking you through it with precise, passionate strokes. “Yes… ahh, just like that. You’re squeezing me so perfectly.” His own climax followed quickly, hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside you with a long, breathy whimper of your name, filling you with warmth.
Afterwards, Sunoo stayed buried inside, collapsing gently onto you with his face tucked into your neck. He pressed dozens of tiny, affectionate kisses across your skin, giggling breathlessly. “That was amazing I didn’t expect my night to end like this, but I’m so happy.” His voice was soft and satisfied, full of that signature sunshine even post-orgasm.
He rolled carefully to the side, pulling you with him so you remained spooned together, his softening cock still nestled comfortably inside your heat. The string lights twinkled above as he wrapped both arms around you, one leg hooked over yours to keep you close. “We’re sleeping just like this,” he declared cutely, nuzzling your hair. “I don’t want to pull out yet. You feel too warm and nice like my personal heater.”
Sunoo continued humming softly, his fingers drawing hearts on your arm as the afterglow wrapped around you both. He whispered sweet praises how much he loved your boldness, how perfect the connection felt, how he’d smile thinking about this during tomorrow’s schedule. The room filled with quiet contentment, his bright personality making the filthy act feel loving and special. No rush to separate, just prolonged closeness under the pretty lights, bodies joined and hearts synced.
◟✿ jungwon ˒ The dorm’s small home office nook off the main living area was quiet under the soft glow of a desk lamp. It was deep into the night, long after the other members had retreated to their rooms. Jungwon, ever the responsible leader, sat at the wooden table with his laptop open, reviewing tomorrow’s schedule and scribbling notes on a notepad. He wore a simple black hoodie and gray sweat shorts, his dark hair slightly messy from running his fingers through it in concentration. His sharp, cat like eyes scanned the screen with focused intensity, but his shoulders carried that subtle tiredness only you could notice. A half empty mug of herbal tea sat beside him, steam long gone.
You had been watching him from the doorway, admiring the way he carried the weight of the group with such quiet grace. Without speaking, you approached from behind, sliding your arms around his shoulders first. Jungwon turned his head with a soft smile, about to greet you, but you moved faster. You slipped onto his lap facing him, straddling his thighs right there at the table. Before he could set his pen down, your hand dipped into his shorts, stroking his cock from soft to fully hard in quick, practiced motions thick, veined, and curving just right.
Jungwon’s breath hitched sharply. “Y/N, what are you—” The words dissolved into a low, surprised groan as you pushed his shorts aside and sank down onto him in one steady, deliberate motion. You took him all the way in, your slick walls enveloping every inch until you were fully seated in his lap, his cock buried to the hilt inside your warm heat. No movement. Just cockwarming, right there at the desk with his laptop still glowing behind you.
His eyes widened, pupils blowing wide in the dim light. “Oh wow,” Jungwon breathed, his voice that perfect mix of youthful and commanding. His hands instinctively gripped your hips, fingers pressing into your skin through the thin fabric of your oversized tee. He sat perfectly still, processing the sudden velvet grip surrounding him. His cock twitched powerfully inside you, swelling thicker as your pussy fluttered and adjusted around his length. You could feel the subtle curve pressing firmly against your front wall, his pulse beating steadily deep within.
For a long moment, Jungwon just stared at you, cheeks flushing a soft pink that contrasted his leader aura. A small, breathless chuckle escaped him, low and slightly disbelieving. “Right here? While I’m working on schedules?” His tone held fond exasperation, but his dark eyes gleamed with instant heat. “You really chose now to warm me like this so sudden and bold.”
He leaned back slightly in the chair, careful not to dislodge you, the wooden seat creaking softly under your combined weight. The new position him seated at the table, you fully impaled on his cock with your legs wrapped around his waist made everything feel incredibly intimate and risky, the open nook adding a thrill of possible discovery. Jungwon’s hands slid under your shirt, palms warm against your bare back as he pulled you closer until your chests touched. “You’re so wet already,” he murmured, voice dropping into a husky whisper. “Sliding down on me without any warning my sneaky kitten.”
Jungwon’s response was measured yet intensely focused. He didn’t thrust or grind immediately. Instead, he held you there, savoring the deep connection while his laptop screen dimmed behind you. His fingers traced slow, soothing circles on your lower back, then lower to cup your ass, holding you flush so not even a centimeter of his cock escaped your heat. “Stay still for me,” he said softly, almost like a gentle order. “I want to feel every pulse. How you’re squeezing me so perfectly right now.”
The cockwarming stretched in charged silence. Jungwon’s discipline as leader showed in his restraint he remained almost motionless, only allowing tiny, controlled flexes of his cock inside you. Each deliberate throb made you both inhale sharply. “Feel that?” he whispered against your ear, lips brushing the shell. “That’s what you do to me. Just sitting here, warm and tight around my cock it’s driving me crazy in the best way.”
He turned his head to nuzzle your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your throat while one hand slipped between your bodies to rest just above where you were joined, feeling the heat radiating there. No direct touching yet, just heightening awareness. “You’re dripping onto my shorts,” he observed quietly, a hint of teasing amusement in his voice. “All this slick just from warming me at the table?”
The desk lamp cast soft shadows across his sharp features as he continued light conversation mixed with filth, his tone calm yet increasingly strained. He occasionally glanced at the laptop screen, pretending to check a note, but his attention was entirely on the way your walls hugged him. “This schedule can wait,” he decided, closing the lid with one hand without shifting you. “You’re more important right now.”
Jungwon’s hands roamed with purpose cupping your breasts under the shirt, thumbs circling your nipples until they hardened. He rolled them gently, then a little firmer, drawing soft whimpers from you. “So responsive,” he praised, voice low and velvety. “Every time you clench, I feel it all the way up my spine. You’re going to make me lose focus completely.” Sweat began to form on his brow, his hoodie suddenly feeling too warm. He tugged it off one-handed, revealing his toned torso, then pulled you tighter against his bare chest.
The position allowed for subtle shifts. Jungwon tilted his hips minimally in the chair, changing the angle just enough to nudge a new sensitive spot inside you without breaking the cockwarming stillness. The motion made your clit grind lightly against his pelvis, sending sparks through both of you. “There,” he murmured with a small, satisfied smile. “Feel how deep I am? Filling you up so well while we sit here like nothing’s happening.”
Your breathing grew heavier, matching his. Jungwon’s cat-like eyes darkened, restraint fraying at the edges despite his composed exterior. His thighs tensed beneath you, muscles flexing as he fought the urge to move. “You’re trembling on me,” he noted, one hand stroking your thigh soothingly while the other gripped your waist. “So needy already. My strong, independent baby initiating this…it’s adorable and so hot.”
The tension built unbearably. Jungwon’s cock throbbed constantly now, leaking inside you. He captured your lips in a deep kiss, then turning hungry, tongue sliding against yours with growing desperation. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “I can’t stay still much longer,” he confessed, voice rougher. “You feel too incredible. Hot, wet, wrapped around every inch of me.”
With a quiet groan, Jungwon pushed the chair back from the table. Still fully connected, he stood carefully, lifting you with surprising strength. Your legs tightened around his waist as he carried you the few steps to the nearby couch in the nook, lowering you onto it on your back without ever pulling out. The new position him hovering above you, cock buried deep allowed better leverage.
“Eyes on me,” Jungwon commanded softly, that natural leader tone sending a thrill through you. He began to move slow, deep rolls of his hips that kept him mostly sheathed, grinding rather than pounding at first. Each thrust was precise, hitting that perfect curve against your walls. The wet sounds of your connection filled the quiet space, obscene against the earlier silence of schedules.
“You surprised me tonight,” he panted, hips snapping a little harder. “Taking what you want while I was trying to be responsible such a bratty leader’s girl.” One hand braced beside your head while the other slipped between you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing firm, expert circles. His pace built steadily, powerful yet controlled, exactly like Jungwon focused entirely on your pleasure.
The orgasm hit you intensely, walls convulsing hard around his thick cock. Jungwon moaned low, burying his face in your neck as he fucked you through it, thrusts deepening. “That’s it squeeze me just like that so good for me.” His own release followed swiftly. He pushed to the hilt, hips stuttering as he came deep inside you with a quiet, guttural groan of your name, warm pulses filling you completely.
Afterwards, Jungwon stayed buried deep, collapsing carefully over you with his weight comforting. He pressed tender kisses to your face, your lips, your eyelids, his breathing gradually slowing. “You’re perfect,” he whispered, voice hoarse but full of affection. “I love when you pull me away from work like this. reminds me I need balance too.”
◟✿ niki ˒ The dim glow of Niki’s gaming setup illuminated the corner of his room. He was slouched in his ergonomic chair, long legs stretched out under the desk, wearing only black basketball shorts and an oversized hoodie. Headphones sat around his neck as he laughed into the phone call with Jake, who was away visiting family and catching up on random stories. The speaker was on, Jake’s cheerful Aussie voice filling the quiet space while Niki played with a fidget toy in his free hand.
“Yeah, hyung, the new choreography is brutal on the knees. I keep telling the choreographer we need more breaks—” Ni-ki’s words cut off mid sentence as you quietly entered and approached him from the front.
His eyes flicked up, a playful smirk already forming, assuming you were just there to bother him like usual. But you didn’t give him time to react properly. You tugged his shorts down just enough to free his cock, already half hard from the casual laziness of the late hour. A few firm strokes later, he was fully erect long, thick, and flushed. Without breaking eye contact, you straddled his lap, pulled your panties aside, and sank straight down onto him in one smooth, relentless motion.
All of him disappeared inside you in seconds, your walls stretching around his impressive length until you were flush against his pelvis, fully seated on his cock while he was still on the phone.
Niki’s entire body jerked. His free hand shot to your hip, gripping hard, knuckles whitening. A choked sound escaped him before he could stop it. “—uh, yeah, I’m still here, hyung,” he managed, voice suddenly deeper and strained. His sharp eyes locked onto yours with a mix of shock, panic, and burning heat. His cock pulsed wildly inside you, thickening even more at the unexpected, scorching grip of your pussy.
Jake’s voice continued casually on the speaker. “You okay? You sound weird.”
Niki swallowed thickly, biting the inside of his cheek. You stayed perfectly still, impaled on him, the fullness overwhelming in the most delicious way. The risk of the ongoing call made everything sharper. “Just… stubbed my toe on the desk keep going,” he lied, forcing a breathy laugh. His long fingers dug into your thigh under the desk, a silent warning and plea at the same time.
You clenched around him deliberately. Niki’s head tipped back against the chair, eyes fluttering shut for a second as he fought to stay composed. The new position him seated upright in the gaming chair, you in his lap facing him, bodies joined while Jake chatted away felt dangerously intimate. His cock throbbed rhythmically against your walls, the subtle curve pressing right into a sensitive spot that made your breath hitch quietly.
“Shit you’re evil,” he mouthed silently at you, not daring to speak it aloud. Sweat already beaded on his forehead. He tried to focus on the call, nodding along to whatever Jake was saying about food recommendations, but his free hand roamed your body under your shirt instead. Long fingers traced your ribs, then cupped your breast, thumb brushing your nipple in slow, teasing circles that matched none of the calm tone he forced into his voice.
Every tiny shift of your hips even the involuntary clenches made his jaw clench. “Yeah, that place sounds good, hyung. We should go when you’re back,” Niki replied, but his voice had dropped an octave, husky and rough around the edges. You could feel him leaking inside you, the warmth spreading as your arousal coated his length and dripped down onto his shorts.
The call dragged on. Jake kept talking, completely oblivious. Niki’s usual boundless energy was now channeled into pure restraint. He mouthed filthy things at you between responses “So fucking wet,” “You’re gonna pay for this,” and “Don’t you dare move yet.” His long legs trembled slightly under you, muscles taut from holding still. The chair creaked faintly whenever he involuntarily flexed his cock deep inside your heat.
You leaned forward, resting your head against his shoulder, lips brushing his neck. Niki’s breath stuttered audibly. “Sorry dropped something,” he quickly told Jake, covering for the noise. One of his hands slipped between your bodies, not to touch your clit, but to press lightly just above where you were stretched around him, feeling the obscene bulge of his cock inside you. The pressure made you both shudder.
Minutes felt like hours. The cockwarming was torturous in the best way no big movements, just the constant, throbbing fullness while Niki multitasked on the call. His hoodie suddenly felt too hot he tugged at the collar with his teeth, eyes half lidded and dark as he stared at you. The fairy lights you’d helped him string earlier twinkled softly, casting shifting colors across his flushed face and sharp jawline.
Finally, Jake said something about calling it a night. “Alright dude don’t stay up too late gaming.”
“Yeah… yeah, I won’t,” Niki rasped. The second the call ended, he ripped the headphones off and tossed the phone onto the desk with a clatter. Both hands gripped your ass immediately, squeezing hard.
“You absolute menace,” he growled, voice raw and no longer restrained. A wicked, breathless grin broke across his face. “Sitting on my cock the entire time I was talking to Jake? I almost moaned your name, you know that?” He rolled his hips upward in one sharp, controlled thrust, driving himself impossibly deeper. The sudden friction after so much stillness ripped a moan from both of you.
Niki didn’t flip you or move to the bed. Instead, he stayed right there in the chair, using his long legs and strong core for leverage. He guided you into a slow, grinding rhythm deep, circular rolls that kept him buried almost completely while hitting every sensitive angle. His height advantage let him lean in and bite at your collarbone, sucking marks that would be hidden by clothes tomorrow.
“Feel how deep I am?” he panted against your skin, voice playful yet wrecked. “You took all of me while I was trying to sound normal. So fucking tight and sloppy now.” One hand finally moved to your clit, rubbing fast, messy circles with those long fingers. The wet sounds of your connection were loud in the now silent room obscene and slick.
He kept the pace torturously controlled at first, savoring the way you fluttered and clenched after the long wait. “You’re shaking already,” he teased, nipping your earlobe. “Was it the risk? Knowing Jake hyung could’ve heard me lose it?” His thrusts grew sharper, more energetic, hips snapping up to meet you each time you sank down. The chair rolled slightly on the floor from the force.
The buildup was intense and different no soft kisses or long praise sessions like the others. Just raw, teasing energy mixed with pure need. Niki’s stamina showed as he fucked up into you relentlessly while keeping you anchored in his lap.
“Come on,” he urged, voice dropping into that deep timbre. “Let me feel you come while I’m still so full inside you. Right here where I was talking to hyung five minutes ago.”
Your orgasm crashed hard, walls spasming violently around his thick length. Niki cursed loudly thrusting through it with powerful strokes, drawing out every wave. His own release hit seconds later he buried himself to the hilt, long body shuddering as he came deep inside you, hot pulses filling you while he groaned your name against your neck.
Afterwards, Niki didn’t pull out. He slumped back in the chair, arms wrapped loosely around you, still buried deep. His chest heaved as he caught his breath, a lazy, satisfied smirk on his lips. “That was insane best worst idea ever.” He pressed a surprisingly soft kiss to your temple, then another to your lips lingering and warm.
ㅤ﹙SMAU﹚ 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ｡ chaotic boyfriend ! enha x fem readerㅤ✶ㅤfluff humour petty arguments terminally online behaviour cursing ㅤ❛ 𝐀𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍
ㅤ୨୧ㅤㅤ inspired by those stupidly funny “selling my bf” tweets because i KNOW enha would crash out immediately 😭 happy reading & pls do not auction your man online !
A few months ago, you got accepted into the university you had always dreamed of. The campus is hours away from your hometown, which means you have to move.
When you applied for the dorms, they were already full and the waiting list was huge. To make things worse, all the apartments nearby were ridiculously expensive, way beyond what you could afford.
Your older brother, Jake, suggested that you share an apartment with his two best friends, Riki and Sunghoon. Their apartment has three bedrooms and is just a few minutes walk from campus. Jake told you that Heeseung, the friend who used to occupy the third room, had graduated last semester, so the room was now empty.
Splitting the rent between three people would be much cheaper than anywhere else you could find. Still, you hesitated. Riki and Sunghoon have been Jake’s best friends since high school, and you’ve known them for years, but living with them felt strange — too intimate. At the same time, it was an excellent opportunity.
In the end, you had no other choice but to accept. A few weeks later, you packed your things and moved into your brother’s best friends’ apartment.
───
You slam the door behind you harder than necessary, taking out your frustration and exhaustion on the poor door. Riki looks up at you from the couch with that usual smirk.
"Rough day?" he asks, patting the empty space beside him. "Come here."
You drop your bag on the living room floor, kick off your shoes, and walk slowly toward him. "Yeah… rough day. I hate being me sometimes."
He turns to look at you properly. "You look fucking exhausted." It’s obvious from your tired expression, heavy eyelids, and tense body. Anyone could tell your day had been hell.
His other hand rests on your warm, soft thigh, exposed by your tiny skirt. It doesn’t take long for him to slide it higher, carefully moving between your legs.
"Sunghoon isn’t home…" he murmurs, leaning closer. "Let me help you relax."
"Riki…" Your voice falters as your body already reacts to his touch. "We shouldn’t do this without him. You know about our agreement."
He laughs at your weak excuse. "That’s bullshit and we both know it." His hand moves up to gently cup your jaw. "Come on, I just want to help you. What’s wrong with that?"
Your mouth opens, ready to give another excuse, but no words come out. Riki’s smile widens. Unable to wait any longer, he crashes his lips against yours in a hungry kiss.
His hands grab your hips, pulling you onto his lap. You let out a small sigh but don’t hesitate. You straddle him, knees on either side of his hips. The kiss grows messier by the second, wet tongues moving in a chaotic rhythm.
"Fuck, you taste so good," he groans into the kiss, pulling your skirt up until the fabric bunches around your waist. You understand what he wants and start grinding slowly against his growing erection.
His hand slides down to grab your ass, squeezing it while helping you roll your hips. The friction makes his cock throb inside his sweatpants. He leaves a trail of kisses down your neck and smirks when your head falls back, giving him more access. "That’s it, baby. I’m gonna make you feel good. You just need to relax for me, okay?"
Suddenly, he flips you over. Your back hits the couch and he hovers above you, settling between your legs. He quickly grabs the waistband of your panties and pulls them down, tossing them somewhere in the living room. "Look at this perfect pussy, already dripping for me."
His thumb slides over your folds, moving up and down between your swollen lips, spreading your wetness. With his other hand, he pushes his sweatpants and boxers down just enough to free himself. His cock is rock hard and leaking precum. "I’m gonna fuck all that frustration out of you, baby."
He wraps his fingers around his length, stroking a few times before slapping it against your wet pussy, making you gasp and shiver. "Ah— oh my God."
He does it again, slapping his cock against your soaked folds and then against your swollen clit just because he enjoys your reaction. "It’s embarrassing how wet you are just from this."
Without warning, he pushes inside you slowly, watching the way your pussy stretches to take him. When he finally bottoms out, your walls clench around him like his cock is your salvation.
Your hands grab his back as you moan and whimper with every inch that enters you.
"Taking me so well… You were made for my cock, baby." He stays still for a few seconds, letting you adjust to his massive length.
Then, agonizingly slow, because he knows it drives you crazy, he pulls out almost completely before slamming back in hard, making your back arch and knocking the air out of your lungs.
Laughing mockingly, he does it again, pull out until only the tip is inside, then thrust back in brutally. The impact sinks your body deeper into the couch and a broken moan tears from your throat. "Oh my— fuck, Riki."
His cock twitches inside you when he hears you moan. "You love this. You love how I fill you up to the brim." He picks up the pace, fucking you fast and hard, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room. "You feel that? I’m so deep inside you…"
He makes sure every thrust hits that spot inside you that makes you scream and scratch his back. "You sound so good like this."
His hands roam your body. One grips your hip to hold you in place while the other slips under your tank top to play with your sensitive nipple, pinching and rolling the hard peak.
At this point, you can barely think straight. All you can do is moan, your legs shaking uncontrollably as the pressure builds intensely in your core. He hooks one of your knees higher, allowing him to go even deeper.
"I’m gonna cum, I’m so close." Your walls flutter and tighten around him, your toes curling. He laughs, mocking how broken you look. "Then cum for me. Let me feel how much your pussy loves getting fucked like a slut."
Pleasure hits its peak and you cum with a loud moan, your whole body shaking beneath him. Your pussy pulses and squeezes his cock, but he doesn’t stop thrusting, fucking you through your orgasm as he chases his own.
He only slows down when his own orgasm hits. With one final deep thrust, he cums inside you, filling you with his hot load while groaning your name. "Take it, every drop."
He stays buried inside you to make sure you take it all, then slowly pulls out, collapsing beside you on the couch. Both of you are clearly wrecked. You can feel his cum leaking out of you as aftershocks run through your body.
The sound of the front door unlocking makes you turn your head quickly. Sunghoon is standing in the doorway. Everything goes silent as he stares at you and Riki, both still breathless. The air smells like sweat and sex — it’s obvious what happened.
Without saying a word, he closes the door behind him. The click of the lock sounds louder than ever. His expression remains neutral, showing no sign of shock or anger. "My room. Now," he says, walking past you without another glance.
You hesitate, but soon follow him on shaky legs. Sunghoon is already sitting on the edge of the bed, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, looking perfectly calm. You carefully close the bedroom door. Just as you’re about to turn to him, his voice cuts through the silence. "Lock it."
Swallowing hard, you obey and lock the door, then walk slowly until you’re standing between his legs. "Hoon, we—"
He cuts you off with a dry, humorless laugh. "You couldn’t wait, huh? You are such a greedy desperate slut for cock that you could not even wait for me huh?"
You open your mouth to respond, but once again nothing comes out because you have no excuse. You nod slightly. "Use your fucking words."
"I am. I’m a greedy slut desperate for cock." Your voice is low and shaky.
He grabs your chin firmly, forcing you to look him in the eyes. "We had a clear agreement that no one gets to fuck you alone, only when all three of us are together."
Your face burns with both shame and arousal. "It wasn’t exactly like that… I was really tired and Riki was just trying to help me relax."
He raises one thick eyebrow, clearly not believing you. "So he was just being a good friend, huh? By burying his cock deep inside you to help you relax."
Without waiting for an answer, he slides his hand under your skirt and runs his fingers over your folds, feeling how wet and swollen you still are. "Your pussy is still dripping with his cum." Two fingers slip inside you without warning. "How many times did he make you cum, hm?"
Your legs tremble and you hold onto his shoulders to stay standing. "Once… just once, Hoon."
"Just once?" He mocks, adding a third finger, pumping slowly and curling them against that sensitive spot that always makes you squirm. "I’m gonna make you cum so many times that you’ll never want to break the rules again in your life."
He suddenly pulls his fingers out and gives your pussy a firm slap, hitting your clit and sending a wave of pleasure mixed with a little pain through your body. "Hoon, I’m sorry. I promise it won’t happen again," you beg in a whiny voice.
"Get on the bed. Now." You don’t hesitate to obey, lying on your back with your legs spread wide for him. "Good girl," he praises as he removes his pants and boxers, finally freeing his throbbing cock.
He positions himself between your legs, stroking himself while looking at your swollen pussy still clenching around nothing, begging for more. "So fucking needy." He thrusts into you in one go, not giving you time to adjust to his length.
You let out a loud moan, arching your back off the bed. The stretch burns in the most delicious and overwhelming way, making you writhe beneath him.
His pace is brutally fast, merciless thrusts that reach deep inside you. With one hand he grips your hip while the other presses down on your stomach so he can feel the shape of his cock moving inside you. "Fuck, look at that." He presses harder. "Taking me so deep."
His thumb finds your clit and rubs it in fast circles just to watch you tremble and make those sounds he loves. "Gonna cum? Do it. Cum on my cock."
As if you were only waiting for his permission, you cum hard, creaming around his cock while he keeps fucking you. Your walls squeeze him tightly, making him groan and slam into you messily.
He buries himself to the hilt and cums hard, his cock twitching with every spurt as he fills you up. Your pussy overflows with his load.
Suddenly he laughs mockingly and grabs your cheeks, squeezing them just enough for you to feel it. "I wonder what Jake would think of this… what he would do if he knew his little sister gets her pussy fucked by his best friends every single day in every room of this apartment."
───
NOTE : english is not my first language! I thought about writing a threesome, but I wasn't happy with the result, so I will try again another time
—𝑶𝑹 𝑾𝑯𝑬𝑵 you walk into a tattoo shop drunk just to prove a point, and walk out with the best thing to ever happen to you. Except he’s hiding something. And between the secrets and your stalker classmate closing in, you get it twisted before you get it right.
playlist… hanging out to dry — florence road // vampire — dominic fike // addicted — lovelace // fallen star — the neighbourhood // real people — hozier // nothing’s gonna hurt you baby — cigarettes after sex
pepa speaks!! hii so this is my first time writing a fic and I’ve been working on this for like a longgg time and decided to post bc I’m a bit nervous LOL uhm so yeah there will be a part 2 btw and also my taglist is open! pls enjoy and I’d really appreciate likes and reblogs 🤭💐
The thing about a girls’ night with Ria was that it always ended somewhere it wasn’t supposed to. The club had been Hana’s idea. The fourth round of shots had been Soo’s.
The part where all four of you ended up on the pavement at eleven-forty-five, heels in hand, looking at a tattoo shop with a red light glowing in the window like it was personally inviting you in — that had been Ria. “We’re going in,” she said.
“We are not going in,” Soo said.
“It says open.” Ria pointed at the sign. Studio 13. Like that settled it.
“It’s almost midnight.”
“They put the sign out.”
“Ria—” But you were already looking at the door and thinking why not, which was the alcohol talking, and also you were cold and your feet hurt and the red light looked warm from out here on the pavement. “I want a piercing,” you said.
Ria grabbed your hand. “She wants a piercing.” Soo looked at the sky. Hana was already moving toward the door.
The club outfit had been Ria’s fault entirely. The top was small — that was the only word for it, small and black and doing everything a top could reasonably be asked to do. The skirt wasn’t much better. You’d spent the whole night at the club feeling like the main character, which was the intended effect, and the cold air outside had done nothing to make you feel less exposed.
You pushed the door open and the warmth hit you first. Then the smell — ink, clean soap, something faintly chemical underneath it. Black walls covered in flash art. Low red lighting that made the whole place feel like a deliberate secret. Something slow playing from speakers you couldn’t locate.
Two guys inside. One in the back with his head down over a drawing tablet. One at the front counter. The one at the front counter looked up.
He was tall even on the stool, long legs stretched out in front of him, forearms resting on the desk like he owned the surface and everything past it. Full sleeve on his left arm. Silver rings on most of his fingers. Dark hair pushed back slightly. One earring. The kind of face that got you in trouble if you looked at it for too long — sharp jaw, dark eyes, a mouth that was currently sitting in the very early stages of a smirk.
He took in all four of you in about two seconds. Then his eyes found you and the smirk finished forming. “We’re open,” he said. “Barely.”
Ria and Hana peeled off toward the flash wall immediately. Soo planted herself near the door with her arms folded. Which left you walking up to the front counter alone, bare legs, tiny skirt, heels clicking on the concrete floor.
You watched him watch you walk over. He didn’t pretend he wasn’t watching. Didn’t do the polite thing where you glance away and back. He just watched, easy and unhurried, the way someone looks at something they find genuinely worth looking at, and when you got to the counter and leaned on it his eyes moved — slowly, and with complete lack of apology — from your face down to your chest and back up again. Held eye contact like nothing had happened. You’d been looked at before. This was different. This was a man who had decided he wasn’t going to pretend. “Hi,” you said.
“Hi.” His voice was low. Even. The smirk hadn’t moved. “Can I help you?”
“I want a piercing.”
“Yeah?” He leaned back on the stool, arms folding across his chest, the sleeve shifting with the movement. His rings caught the red light. “What are you thinking?”
“Tragus.” You reached up and tapped the outer ridge of your ear, which meant your arm lifted and your top shifted and you watched his eyes drop again, briefly, before they came back to yours like he wasn’t the least bit embarrassed about it. “I’ve been putting it off. I’m in a decisive mood.”
“Decisive,” he said.
“Very.”
“I can see that.” He said it like it meant something else. Then: “How much have you had tonight?”
“Enough to be excellent company.”
He looked at you. Really looked — quiet and thorough, taking in your face, the flush across your chest, the way you were leaning on his counter in that top — and then his tongue pressed briefly against his cheek like he was trying not to smile properly. “Can’t pierce you with alcohol in your system, baby.”
Baby. Like he’d been calling you that for years. Like it was already established. “That’s a rule?” you said.
“That’s the rule.”
You leaned further onto the counter, closing some of the distance between you. His eyes went exactly where you expected them to go and stayed there for a beat longer than was professional before dragging back up. His expression didn’t change. He was completely comfortable with being caught, which was — honestly — impressive. “What if I promised to be very good?” you said.
“I’m sure you would be.” His voice was smooth, unhurried. “Still no.”
“What if—”
“You can come back tomorrow,” he said. “Sober. I’ll pierce your tragus.” A pause, his eyes dropping once more, quick and deliberate, before landing back on yours. “Or whatever else you want.”
The air between you did something. “That sounds like more than a professional offer,” you said.
“I’m a professional.” The smirk was fully settled now. “The offer’s professional. What you do with it is up to you.”
You held his gaze. He held yours back without any effort at all, completely at ease, like this was just how Tuesday night went for him. It was annoying. It was also working. “I don’t know where this place is sober,” you said.
He was already reaching under the counter. He slid a card across the desk with two fingers — didn’t look down to do it, kept his eyes on you the whole time. STUDIO 13. NISHIMURA RIKI. PIERCING.
You picked it up. “Your personal card,” you said.
“Goes straight to me.”
“Bold.”
“Efficient,” he said.
You looked at the card. Then at him. “I’m Y/N.” His eyes went down again — unhurried, completely unapologetic, a slow look that started at your face and made its way south before coming back up — and then he said, “Y/N,” like he was just trying the name out. Like he’d be using it again. “You gonna remember that?” you said.
“Yeah,” he said simply. “I’m going to remember that.”
The way he said it made it about more than your name. Behind you, Ria made a noise she covered poorly with a fake cough. You didn’t turn around. “Come back sober,” Riki said. “I’ll take care of you.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I’m going to do it.” He picked his phone back up, easy as anything, like the conversation was filed away now and he was done performing — except the smirk stayed. “Get home safe, Y/N.” Dismissed. Warmly, cockily, with complete confidence that you’d be back.
You picked up the card, slid it into your bag, and let Soo steer you to the door because your own legs had made a decision to co-operate with his energy and you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction.
Outside Ria grabbed your arm with both hands. “Y/N. The way he looked at you—”
“Ria.”
“He looked at your tits like—”
“Ria.” Hana was fanning herself. Even Soo was quiet, which was its own verdict. The Uber was three minutes away and you looked at your phone and felt your face doing something warm that you were crediting entirely to the alcohol.
Inside, Heeseung finally looked up from his drawing tablet. He’d watched the whole thing. Ten feet away. Nobody had noticed. He looked at Riki.
Riki had his phone in his hand but he was looking at the door — at the space where you’d just been standing in that top, leaning on his counter, letting him look — with an expression Heeseung couldn’t quite name. Something had landed and settled behind his eyes.
“Who was that?” Heeseung said.
Riki looked down at his phone. “Some hot girl.”
“Some hot girl,” Heeseung repeated.
“Wanted a tragus piercing.”
“Uh huh.” Heeseung looked at the counter. At the space where Riki’s personal card had been sitting ten minutes ago, now somewhere in your bag on the way home. “You give clients your personal card often?”
Riki said nothing. Heeseung looked back at his tablet. “Right,” he said quietly, and said nothing else.
Three weeks later you were standing outside Studio 13 again and this time you were completely, annoyingly sober. “I don’t know why I’m here,” you said.
“Because Riki said come back sober and you kept his card for three weeks,” Ria said, pushing the door open.
“I kept it by accident.”
“In your purse.”
“That’s where cards go.”
“You don’t keep any other cards in your purse, Y/N. I’ve seen your purse. It’s a graveyard of receipts and one lip liner.” You followed her inside because the alternative was standing on the pavement arguing with her and you’d already lost this argument six times on the way over.
Ria had a tattoo appointment. That was the reason you were here. You were just here for moral support. You were going to sit in a chair and look at your phone and not think about the guy who had looked at you like that and said I’ll take care of you with complete sincerity and a smirk that should have been annoying.
The door swung shut behind you. Same as before — black walls, flash art, red light, the slow dark playlist. A different energy in the daytime though, busier, more lived-in. Jay was at the side counter doing something with ink caps, talking loudly to no one in particular. Jake was sweeping near the back. Heeseung was visible through the half-open door of the back room, head down, working.
No one at the front desk. You relaxed slightly. Ria was already at the counter, checking in for her appointment, and you drifted toward the flash wall and started looking at the art because it was genuinely good and also because you needed something to do with your eyes.
You heard the door from the back open. Heard footsteps. Heard someone say, “Riki, someone’s here—” You turned around because you were a person with normal human reflexes and not because your body had already clocked the name.
Riki came through the back door with a pair of gloves half-on, looking down at the appointment book, and then he looked up.
He saw Ria first. Then his eyes moved — one smooth, unhurried slide — and found you standing by the flash wall in your jeans and your jacket looking like someone who was absolutely only here for moral support. “Hey,” he said.
“Hi,” you said. There was a pause that lasted slightly too long for two people who didn’t know each other.
“You came back,” he said.
“Ria has an appointment.”
“Right.” He looked at you. “And you’re just here for Ria.”
“Correct.”
“Nothing to do with the card.”
“I forgot I even had it.”
“Uh huh.” He pulled the second glove on, still looking at you, and the smirk had settled into something warmer now — less performance, more genuinely pleased. “How’s the tragus feeling? Still decisive?”
Ria made a sound from the counter that she turned into a cough. You didn’t look at her. “I’m considering my options,” you said.
“Good answer.” He turned to Ria, professional now, easy switch. “Ria, yeah? Heeseung’s got you, he’s just finishing up. Five minutes.”
“Perfect,” Ria said, and then immediately looked at you with an expression that meant she was storing everything and you would be debriefed extensively later.
Riki came around the counter. Didn’t go back to the desk — came and stood near the flash wall, close enough to talk, far enough to be plausibly looking at the art. “You look different,” he said.
“I’m sober.”
“That’s probably it.” His eyes did the thing — a brief, easy drop and return, taking in the jacket, the jeans, the way you were standing — and then he was looking at your face again like that was just how he operated. Open about it. Unbothered. “Still good though.”
“You’re very confident,” you said.
“I’m accurate,” he said. You looked at Riki. He looked back. This close you could see the bar through his tongue properly — silver, subtle when his mouth was closed, noticeable when he talked — and the ring in his ear and the way his rings shifted when he crossed his arms.
“So,” he said. “You actually want the piercing or did you come all the way here just to tell me you forgot my card existed?”
“I could still want the piercing.”
“You could.” He tilted his head slightly. “Do you?”
You held out for three more seconds. Then: “Yeah.”
His smile did the thing again — the slow, settled version, the one that looked like satisfaction and something warmer underneath it. “On the house,” he said.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.” He was already moving back toward the piercing station, unhurried, like it was decided. “Come on.”
The piercing chair was in a partitioned section near the back — semi-private, its own mirror, a tray of tools laid out with the kind of precision that told you he took this seriously. He snapped a fresh pair of gloves on and gestured to the chair and you sat down and tried to look like you were not thinking about the last time you’d been in this general vicinity, considerably less sober, telling him he had criminally pretty eyes. You were thinking about it.
He adjusted the chair height without asking, tilted the light, and then stepped in close to look at your ear. His fingers were gentle when they touched the outer ridge — thumb pressing lightly to test the cartilage, professional and careful — and he was close enough that you could smell whatever he was wearing, something dark and clean. “Tragus is a good choice,” he said, still examining your ear. “Suits you.”
“You can tell that from my ear?”
“I can tell from your face.” He stepped back, reached for the marking pen. “You’ve got good bone structure. Something small here draws attention without being loud.” He met your eyes in the mirror. “You’re already loud enough.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“It was one.” He marked the spot with the pen — quick, precise — and then held up a small mirror so you could check the placement. His hand was steady. Everything about him was steady, which was both reassuring and slightly irritating. “Good?” he said.
“Good.”
He put the mirror down. Reached for the needle. And then paused, looking at you in the main mirror with an expression that was more direct than the smirk — more level. “You nervous?” he said.
“No.”
“Your jaw is doing something.”
“My jaw is fine.”
“Y/N.”
“I’m a little nervous,” you said. “About the needle. Not about—” You stopped.
“Not about?” he said.
You looked at him in the mirror. He looked back. The smirk was quiet right now, just his face, just the question sitting there. “The needle,” you said. “I said what I said.”
He let it go. Looked back at your ear, positioned his hands. “Breathe in,” he said. You breathed in. “Out.”
You breathed out and he moved — quick and precise and over before you’d finished processing it. A sharp bite of pressure, brief, clean, and then his hands were already switching out the needle for the jewellery, smooth and practiced. “Done,” he said.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.” He stepped back to let you see in the mirror. Small flat-back stud, exactly where the mark had been, sitting perfectly. “What do you think?”
You looked at it. Turned your head slightly. It was — actually exactly right, the placement, the size, the way it sat. “I think you’re good at your job,” you said.
“I know.” But he said it lightly, without the edge, and when you looked at him in the mirror he was looking at the piercing with something that read like quiet pride. Like he actually cared that it was right.
He peeled his gloves off. Started going through aftercare — saline spray, what to avoid, how long to leave it — and you listened and watched his hands and thought about how he’d looked at you when you walked in. That slow, settled smile. You came back. Like he’d known you would. “Any questions?” he said.
“No.”
“Good.” He handed you the small aftercare card. His fingers brushed yours when he passed it over and he didn’t move his hand immediately, just let the contact sit there for a second before stepping back. “You should come back in four weeks so I can check it.”
“Is that standard?”
“For you it is.”
You looked up at him. He was close still, leaning against the counter beside the chair, arms crossed, completely at ease with the proximity and what he was saying and the way he was looking at you. “That’s a very smooth way to make a follow-up appointment,” you said.
“I’m a smooth guy.”
“You’re a cocky guy.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.” He smiled properly. “Four weeks, Y/N. I’ll be here.” From the main floor, very clearly, you heard Jay say to Jake in a voice that carried: “Twenty says she’s back in two.”
Heeseung appeared in the doorway of his room as you were walking back out to wait for Ria. He looked at you. Then at Riki, who was cleaning up the station behind you. He said nothing.
When you were out of earshot, he leaned in the doorway and looked at Riki with a level expression. Riki didn’t look up. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
Heeseung was quiet for a moment. “She coming back?”
Riki stacked the packaged jewellery back in the tray. “Four weeks.”
Heeseung looked at the ceiling. Looked back down. “Right,” he said, and went back into his room.
Riki looked up once — just once — at where you’d gone back to sit with Ria, talking and laughing, your hand coming up to touch the new piercing gently like you were checking it was real. He looked back down at the tray. Picked up his phone. Set it down again. Four weeks was a long time.
You were back in two weeks. You told yourself you had a legitimate reason. The piercing felt slightly tender on one side and the aftercare card said to come back if anything felt off and this was a medical concern, essentially, and had nothing to do with anything else. Ria, when you told her this, said “uh huh” in the exact same tone Riki had used and you’d hung up on her.
You pushed the door to Studio 13 open at four on a Thursday afternoon.
Jay was at the front counter this time. He looked up, recognized you, and his whole face did something delighted. “Y/N,” he said, like you were a returning champion.
“Hey.” You unwound your scarf. “Is Riki—”
“In the back.” Jay was already leaning back in his chair, tilting toward the hallway. “Riki.”
“I could have just—”
“RIKI. Your girl’s here.”
From the back, a pause. Then footsteps. Riki appeared in the doorway with a black coffee in one hand and his phone in the other and when he saw you something moved across his face — quick, controlled — before it settled into the usual. “Two weeks,” he said.
“I know.”
“I said four.”
“The piercing felt off.”
He looked at you. You looked back. He took a slow sip of his coffee. “Come here,” he said. Back in the piercing section again. The chair, the mirror, the tray. He set his coffee down on the counter and snapped gloves on and tilted your chin to the side with two fingers, turning your head so the light hit the piercing properly.
He was quiet while he looked. Close, the way he’d been last time, close enough that you were aware of exactly how tall he was and exactly how little space existed between you. “Looks fine,” he said.
“It felt tender.”
“New cartilage piercing. It’s going to feel tender.” He turned your head a fraction more, examining the entry and exit points. “You sleeping on it?”
“Sometimes.”
“Don’t.” His thumb pressed gently just below the piercing, checking the tissue. “You’re not rotating it, are you?”
“The card said not to.”
“People do it anyway.”
“I follow instructions.” He made a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. His fingers were still at your jaw, light but there, and in the mirror you could see him looking at the piercing with that focused, careful expression he got when he was working — like the rest of him went quiet and it was just this, just the task, just making sure it was right.
“It’s fine,” he said again, quieter this time. “A little irritated but nothing bad. You’re cleaning it?”
“Twice a day.”
“Good girl.” He said it the same way he said everything — even, unbothered — and went right back to examining the piercing like he hadn’t just said it, like it was nothing, like your entire nervous system hadn’t just done something embarrassing.
He stepped back. Pulled one glove off. In the mirror you watched him look at you — your face this time, not the piercing — and the focused work expression shifted back into something more personal. His eyes moved down briefly, back up. Unhurried. Unapologetic. “You didn’t just come for the piercing check,” he said.
It wasn’t a question. “I was in the area,” you said.
“Y/N.”
“I was.”
“Okay.” He pulled the second glove off, dropped them both in the bin. Leaned against the counter beside the chair with his arms crossed, looking at you with that steady, patient expression. Like he had all the time in the world and was fully prepared to wait you out.
The rings on his fingers caught the light. The bar through his tongue was visible when he spoke and sometimes when he didn’t, a small flash of silver that your eyes kept going back to without your permission. “Can I ask you something?” you said.
“Go ahead.”
You nodded toward his mouth. “Does it affect anything? The tongue piercing.”
The corner of his mouth pulled up. He knew exactly what you were asking and you both knew you both knew it. “Depends what you mean by anything,” he said.
“Talking,” you said. “Eating.”
“No,” he said. “It doesn’t affect talking or eating.”
The way he said it made the implication sit in the room like a third person. “And what about—” you started.
“Yes,” he said simply. You looked at him. He looked back at you, completely relaxed, the smirk at about thirty percent, like he was letting you sit in the answer rather than pushing it.
“That was going to be a different question…” you said.
“Was it?” It wasn’t.
You looked away first, which you were counting as a tactical retreat rather than losing, and he made that almost-laugh sound again and pushed off the counter. “Come out front,” he said. “I’ll get you the saline to take home.”
Jay was now pretending to organize a drawer he had clearly already organized when you came back out. Jake had appeared from somewhere and was leaning on the wall near the door with his phone out. The effort to look casual was extraordinary.
Riki went behind the counter, got the saline, slid it across to you.“Stop sleeping on it,” he said.
“I’ll try.”
“Don’t try. Just don’t do it.”
“You’re bossy,” you said.
“I’m thorough.” He leaned on the counter. His forearms were right there, the sleeve on full display this close — you’d been trying not to look at it properly but it was a lot of work. Intricate blackwork, something that looked botanical near his wrist, darker geometry climbing toward his elbow. “Like the sleeve?” he said.
You looked up. He’d caught you. “It’s good work,” you said.
“Heeseung did most of it.”
“Heeseung tattooed you?”
“First one when I started here.” Something shifted slightly in his face — not closed off, just more considered. “Kind of a thing between us.”
You wanted to ask what kind of thing. Something in how he’d said it made you not push. “You do your own piercings?” you said instead.
He tilted his head so you could see the earring. “This one.”
“Doesn’t that hurt more when it’s yourself?”
“Yeah.”
“And you did it anyway.”
“I do most things anyway,” he said. He said it lightly but there was something under it, something matter-of-fact about pain being a variable he’d simply accounted for. You looked at him for a second longer than you meant to. “Four weeks,” he said, quieter now, just to you. “Come back in four weeks and I’ll check it properly. And if you’re in the area before that—” he held your gaze — “you know where we are.”
“Very smooth,” you said.
“You keep saying that.”
“You keep proving it.” He smiled. The real one — not the smirk, not the performance, the actual smile that did something to his whole face. You’d only seen it once before, the night you came in drunk when he laughed at something Ria said, and it was worse up close and sober.
You picked up the saline. Shouldered your bag. “Thanks for checking it,” you said.
“Anytime.”
You were halfway to the door when Jay said, loudly, to no one: “Two weeks. Called it.”
“Jay,” Riki said, flat.
“I’m just saying—”
“Jay.” You pushed the door open and let it close on whatever Jay said next. On the pavement you breathed in cold air and stood there for a second. I do most things anyway. You thought about that the whole way home.
You texted Ria that night.
you: the piercing was fine btw. just irritated.
Ria: sure
you: it was a legitimate medical concern
Ria: how did he look
you: that’s not relevant
Ria: how did he LOOK
You stared at your phone. Put it face down. Picked it up again.
you: good. he looked good. go to sleep.
Ria: 😭😭😭 Y/N YOU ARE SO DOWN BAD
You put your phone on the charger and lay on your back in the dark and stared at the ceiling. The bar through his tongue caught the light when he talked. Yes, he’d said. Like it was nothing. Like he said it every day. You put a pillow over your face.
Across the city, Studio 13 was closing up. Heeseung was cashing out. Jake was wiping down surfaces. Jay was retelling the afternoon to Sunghoon, who had come in for his evening shift and was listening with the specific expression of someone enjoying information they could use later.
Riki was at the piercing station. Cleaning the tray. Doing the same task he’d done a hundred times. “She came back in two weeks,” Jay said.
“I heard,” Sunghoon said.
“I called it.”
“You did call it.”
“Riki,” Jay said. “You owe me twenty.”
“I don’t owe you anything,” Riki said. “We didn’t make a bet.”
“Spiritually we did.” Riki said nothing. Put the tray away.
“She’s coming back in four weeks,” Jay told Sunghoon.
“Or two,” Sunghoon said.
“Or two,” Jay agreed.
“Both of you,” Riki said, without heat, “can shut up.”
They did not shut up. He let them talk and went back to the tray and thought about the way you’d looked at his mouth when you asked about the piercing. The way your eyes had gone somewhere specific and come back and you’d tried to cover it with a different question.
He’d watched the answer land. Had watched you process it and look away and call it a tactical retreat when it wasn’t. He was good at reading people. He’d had to be, for a long time, for reasons that had nothing to do with tattoo shops or piercing chairs.
You were going to come back before four weeks. He put the tray away and picked up his coffee and didn’t say any of that out loud.
You were back in ten days. You didn’t have a reason this time. You’d run out of reasons. You showed up at three on a Wednesday with two coffees and the vague awareness that something had shifted from I’m in the area to something you didn’t have a word for yet. Jay opened the door before you reached it. “She’s got coffee,” he announced into the shop.
“Jay—”
“Is one of those for me?” He was already holding the door open, looking at the cups in your hand with genuine hope.
“No.”
“Y/N.”
“I brought two.”
“There are multiple people here who drink coffee.”
“There are two coffees,” you said. “Do the math.”
Jay looked wounded. You walked past him into the shop and he let the door close and called after you: “I’m telling Riki you were mean to me.”
“Please do.” Riki was at the front counter. Actually at the counter this time, not coming through from the back, sitting on the stool with his forearms on the desk and his phone in his hand. He looked up when you came in and his eyes went straight to the cups. Then to your face. Then he smiled — not the smirk, not the performance, just a real and immediate thing that he didn’t seem to think about first. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” You put one of the coffees on the counter in front of him. “I didn’t know how you take it.”
He looked at the cup. Looked at you. “Black is fine,” he said.
“Lucky guess.”
“Is it?” He picked it up. His fingers overlapped yours on the cup for a second before you let go — brief, probably accidental, neither of you addressed it. He took a sip. Put it down. “Ten days.”
“I know.”
“Getting closer to two weeks, not further.”
“I’ve been busy,” you said. “This was the first chance I had to—”
“Y/N.”
“What?”
“You don’t need a reason,” he said simply. You looked at him. He looked back, completely even, like he’d just said something neutral about the weather. “Sit down.”
That was how it started. Not with anything dramatic. Just you sitting on the other side of the counter on a Wednesday afternoon with a coffee while Riki worked through his admin, and the conversation that happened around it — easy and unhurried, drifting from one thing to another, the kind of talk that didn’t feel like it was going anywhere because it didn’t need to.
You learned things without asking for them. That he’d been at Studio 13 for two years. That he and Jay had met here. That he had opinions about piercing placement that were borderline philosophical and he’d share them unprompted if you let him.
He learned things back. That you were in your final year. That Ria had been your best friend since you were sixteen. That you had three other piercings already and had done two of them yourself, which made him look up from his phone with an expression that was equal parts impressed and horrified. “You did your own helix,” he said.
“With a kit.”
“A kit.”
“People do it.”
“People also do a lot of things I have to fix,” he said, and leaned across the counter to look at your ear without asking. His fingers found the helix piercing, examining it with the same careful focus he brought to everything, and you sat very still. “It’s crooked,” he said.
“I know.”
“I can fix it.”
“I know.”
He was still looking at your ear, close, his thumb light against the cartilage. “Why haven’t you?”
“I kept meaning to.” You paused. “And then I found Studio 13 and I figured I’d—”
You stopped. He pulled back just enough to look at your face. His expression said he’d heard the end of the sentence even though you hadn’t said it. “Figured you’d what?” he said.
“Come here eventually,” you said. “For things.”
The smirk appeared. “For things.”
“Piercings.”
“Right.” He stepped back, let you breathe, picked his coffee back up. “I’ll fix it whenever you want.”
“Add it to my tab.”
“You don’t have a tab. Everything I do to you is on the house.” He said it completely straight and then looked at his phone, leaving you to sit in the everything I do to you by yourself.
Jay appeared from the back at that exact moment, looked at you both, looked at the counter between you, and went directly back the way he came without saying anything, which was somehow more powerful than if he had.
Hana came with you the following Wednesday. She had been angling to see the shop since Ria had described it in approximately four hundred texts and the second she walked in she stopped in the middle of the floor and looked around with wide eyes. “Oh,” she said. “Oh this place is cool.”
Jake, who was at the side counter, looked up. Hana looked at Jake. Jake looked at Hana. You filed that away.
Riki was with a client in the piercing section — you could see him through the partition, gloved up, talking the client through something in that low steady voice. You hadn’t told him you were coming. You weren’t sure why, except that you’d wanted to know what it felt like to walk in and see him before he saw you. It felt like something, as it turned out.
He was focused on his client, head tilted, hands precise. He’d pushed his sleeves up and the full length of the tattoo was visible now — blackwork that climbed from his wrist to somewhere past his elbow, detailed and dark. He was saying something that made the client laugh. Patient and calm and completely in his element.
You stood there and looked at him for maybe four seconds too long.
“Y/N,” Hana said quietly beside you.
“What.”
“You’ve got a face on.”
“I don’t have a face.”
“You’ve got a very specific face.” She looked at Riki. Looked at you. “Oh you are done.”
“I’m looking at the flash art,” you said, and turned to look at the flash art.
Jay materialized at your shoulder. “She does this every time,” he told Hana, like you weren’t standing right there. “Comes in, looks at him, then looks at the wall.”
“I can hear you,” you said.
“I know.” Jay smiled. “Coffee?”
Riki’s client left at half past three. He came through from the partition still pulling his gloves off and stopped when he saw you and Hana at the counter with Jay. The gloves came off slower. “You didn’t text,” he said to you.
“Spontaneous visit.”
“Hm.” He dropped the gloves, came around to the main counter. His eyes moved to Hana briefly, assessing, friendly. “Friend?”
“Hana,” you said. “She wanted to see the shop.”
“Welcome.” He said it to Hana and then his attention came back to you in that way it always did — like you were the fixed point and everything else was peripheral. “How’s the piercing?”
“Fine. Good.”
“You sleeping on it?”
“Mostly not.”
“Y/N.”
“Mostly not. I’m a side sleeper, it’s a process.”
He leaned on the counter. His coffee was cold by now but he picked it up anyway. “I’ll fix the helix today if you want. While you’re here.”
“Yeah?”
“Chair’s free.” Hana’s elbow found your ribs with surgical precision. You ignored it.
“Okay,” you said.
The helix took ten minutes. Precise, careful, the same focused quiet he brought every time. Afterwards he checked the tragus — habit, he said, like that was a normal thing, like of course he was checking it — and you sat in the chair and let him and looked at his face in the mirror while he was looking at your ear.
Up close like this you could see things you couldn’t from the other side of a counter. The small scar through his left eyebrow, barely visible. The way his jaw set when he was concentrating. The rings on his fingers — he took them off for client work and put them back on after, and watching him slide them back on was a thing you were apparently noticing now.
He caught you in the mirror. Didn’t call you out. Just held your gaze for a second and then looked back at the piercing, and the corner of his mouth moved slightly. “Good,” he said. “Helix looks better. You’ll need to re-do the aftercare cycle.”
“I know.”
“You actually know or you’re saying you know?”
“Riki.”
“I’ll write it down.”
“I literally work a piercing counter in my memory called things Riki has told me,” you said.
He went still for a half second. Then: “Yeah?”
“You’re very thorough,” you said. “It sticks.”
He looked at you in the mirror. Steady, quiet, something behind his eyes that was more than the usual easy confidence — something that had weight to it. “Good,” he said, quieter.
He stepped back. Started cleaning up. Normal, routine, the way he always moved through the shop like everything was exactly where it was supposed to be. “Same time next week?” he said. It wasn’t really a question.
“Sure,” you said.
In the main shop, Hana was sitting on the counter watching Jake explain the difference between traditional and neo-traditional tattooing with the energy of someone who had found religion. Jay was watching this with profound satisfaction. When you came back out Hana looked at you and then at Riki behind you and then at you again. “We should go,” you said.
“Should we,” Hana said.
“Yes.”
“Jake was just explaining—”
“Hana.” She got up, reluctantly, and said goodbye to Jake in a way that suggested she was also going to be back before four weeks. Jake watched her go with an expression that Riki clocked and then looked away from like he hadn’t seen it.
At the door you turned back. Riki was at the counter, already on his phone, or pretending to be. “Thanks for the helix,” you said.
“Anytime.” He didn’t look up. “Wednesday?”
“Wednesday,” you said. Jay made a noise. Riki didn’t look at him. You pushed the door open and the cold air hit you and behind you you heard Jay say, quiet and satisfied to no one in particular: “Regular.”
The Wednesday visits became a thing. Not every week, sometimes every ten days, but consistent enough that Jay started having your coffee order ready. Consistent enough that Jake stopped looking surprised when you walked in. Consistent enough that Heeseung, who said little and noticed everything, started nodding at you when you arrived like you’d passed some quiet assessment he’d been running.
Riki never texted first. You did sometimes — nothing significant, a meme about piercings, a question about aftercare that you probably knew the answer to. He always replied. Never with much. But always.
The counter between you was becoming a problem. Not the physical one — the metaphorical one. The distance that was exactly the right size for this isn’t anything yet and felt increasingly inadequate for what was actually happening in the space between you every Wednesday afternoon. He looked at you like you were a decision he’d already made. You were starting to think you had too.
Daniel texted on a Thursday.
Daniel: hey, haven’t seen you around much. you ok?
You stared at it. You and Daniel had two seminars together and a loose group chat and approximately nothing else, and this was the third text this week.
you: yeah all good, just busy
Daniel: we should get coffee sometime
you: I’m pretty slammed rn, sorry
You thought nothing of it. You mentioned it to Riki the following Wednesday — offhand, in the middle of a conversation about something else, not thinking. “This guy in my seminar keeps texting,” you said. “It’s starting to get annoying.”
Riki was writing something on the appointment book. His pen slowed.“What guy?” he said.
“Daniel. We’re in the same module. He keeps asking for coffee.” Riki’s pen stopped. You looked up. His face was the same — neutral, easy — but something had shifted underneath it. Something had gone very still in the specific way of a thing that was actively being held still.
“You said no?” he said.
“Obviously. I’m not interested.”
A pause. He looked back at the appointment book. Wrote something. “Good,” he said.
Just that. Good. You looked at him for a second. “Riki.”
“Hm.”
“Are you—”
“Helix check,” he said, and stood up from the stool. You let him redirect you. Sat in the chair. Let him check the helix he’d fixed two weeks ago and didn’t need to check again. His hands were as steady as they always were. His voice was as even.
But when you looked at him in the mirror his jaw was set in a way it wasn’t usually and his eyes, when they met yours in the reflection, had something in them that was more than the usual warm certainty. Something that looked a lot like mine with nowhere to go yet. You looked away first. Neither of you said anything about it.
Daniel was waiting outside your seminar on Tuesday. Not accidentally. He was leaning on the wall opposite the door with his phone out, and when you came through he pushed off and fell into step beside you like it was coordinated, like he’d timed it. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” You kept walking.
“Good seminar?”
“It was fine.”
“I thought Professor Kim made a good point about the—”
“Daniel.” You stopped. Turned to face him. He was decent looking, objectively — tall, friendly face, the kind of guy who probably did well in situations where persistence read as flattering. “What’s going on?”
He smiled. Easy, practiced. “I was thinking we could grab that coffee.”
“I said I was slammed.”
“You’re not slammed right now.”
“I have somewhere to be.”
“Where?”
You looked at him. “That’s not really—”
“I’ll walk you,” he said. Like that was a reasonable response. Like the answer to I have somewhere to be was I’ll come.
“Daniel.” You kept your voice even. “I appreciate it but I’m not interested. Okay? Not trying to be harsh, just being clear.”
Something moved across his face — not anger, more like recalibration, like he was filing this away as a temporary obstacle. “Maybe just as friends,” he said.
“I’m good. Thanks though.” You walked away. Heard him say something behind you — see you Thursday — and didn’t respond. You texted Ria about it on the bus.
you: the Daniel thing is getting annoying
Ria: what happened?
you: he waited outside my seminar
Ria: ew
you: I told him straight I’m not interested
Ria: good. are you telling riki?
You stared at that.
you: why would I tell riki??
Ria: because you tell riki everything now??
you: I do not tell riki everything
Ria: you told him about your mum’s cat
you: that came up naturally and I’m not telling him, it’s not a big deal
You put your phone in your bag. You didn’t tell him.
Wednesday came and you sat at the counter with your coffee and talked about other things — Hana and Jake’s ongoing situation, which was developing at a glacial pace that was driving Ria insane. A new flash piece Heeseung had drawn that you’d been looking at for twenty minutes when you came in. Whether you should get a second tragus on the other ear. “Yes,” Riki said, without hesitation.
“That’s a very immediate answer.”
“It’s an obvious answer.” He looked at your ears, both sides, that assessing look. “Symmetrical double tragus. Come in next week.”
“Maybe I want to think about it.”
“You don’t need to think about it.”
“Riki.”
“You came in drunk wanting a tragus piercing,” he said. “You knew then. You know now.”
You looked at him. He looked back with the patience of someone who was completely certain and was willing to wait for you to catch up. “Fine,” you said.
He smiled. “Next week,” he said.
The following Tuesday Daniel was outside your seminar again. This time you saw him before he saw you and you changed direction, took the long way to the exit, added seven minutes to your walk. Small, manageable.
On Thursday he was in the coffee queue behind you. “Coincidence,” he said, and smiled at you, and you smiled back tightly and paid for your coffee and left.
On Friday he messaged. Again.
Daniel: hey saw you in the queue yesterday, why’d you leave so fast?
You didn’t reply. And he messaged again on Saturday.
Daniel: did I do something wrong?
You showed it to Ria over the phone that night. She was quiet for a second. “He’s not taking the hint,” she said.
“I didn’t hint. I said directly I wasn’t interested.”
“Then he’s not taking the direct statement.”
“Yeah.”
Another pause. “Tell Riki.”
“Ria—”
“Y/N I’m serious, tell—”
“It’s fine. I can handle it.”
“I know you can handle it, that’s not the—” She stopped. “Just tell him. You know you want to.” You didn’t answer that.
Wednesday came around, you’d been at the counter for forty minutes. Jay had come and gone twice. Jake had shown Hana something on his phone that made her laugh and Riki had looked at that for approximately one second before very deliberately looking elsewhere.
You were mid-sentence about something — your dissertation, probably, you’d been complaining about your dissertation — when the door opened.
Sunghoon came in from his afternoon off, still in his jacket, unwinding his scarf. He was unfairly attractive and moved through the shop like he knew it, dropping his bag behind the counter and immediately coming over to where you were sitting. “Y/N.” He leaned on the counter beside Riki’s stool, friendly, easy. “How’s the tragus?”
“Good.” You touched it briefly. “Riki’s doing the other side next week.”
“Nice. You should let me draw something for you. Little custom piece, just here—” he touched his own collarbone— “would suit you.”
“Yeah?”
“Hundred percent.” He looked at Riki. “Right?” Riki was looking at his phone. “Riki,” Sunghoon said.
“Hm.” He didn’t look up. Sunghoon looked at you with a small what’s his problem expression. You looked back with a I genuinely don’t know expression.
You talked to Sunghoon for twenty more minutes. He was easy to talk to — funny, straightforward, the kind of person who filled a room without trying. He showed you his portfolio on his phone, talked you through a couple of pieces, asked about your university course with actual interest.
Riki stayed on his stool. He wasn’t on his phone. You could tell because you kept looking over and the screen was dark. He was just sitting there in the specific stillness of something being actively held in place, forearms on the desk, jaw set. When Sunghoon went to the back to change into his work clothes you turned to Riki. “What’s wrong with you?” you said.
“Nothing.”
“You’ve said four words in the last twenty minutes.”
“I’ve been busy.”
You looked at the dark phone screen. Looked at him. “Riki.”
“I’m fine.” He finally looked at you. His face was even, controlled, the expression he wore when he was putting effort into the expression. “You want more coffee?”
“No.” You kept your voice low. Jay and Jake were across the room but still. “Talk to me.”
Something moved behind his eyes. For a second you thought he was going to — actually going to, drop whatever this was and say it. His jaw shifted. His eyes moved over your face and then away. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Forget it.”
You looked at him for a long moment. He looked at the counter. You picked up your bag. “I’m going to head,” you said.
He looked up then. Quick, like he hadn’t expected it. “You don’t have to—”
“I have stuff to do.” You stood up. Your voice was even, you’d made sure of it. “I’ll see you next week for the tragus.”
“Y/N—”
“Bye, Riki.” You said goodbye to Jay on the way out. Waved at Jake. Pushed the door open into the cold.
Behind you, through the glass, you heard Jay say something. Heard Riki’s voice, short and clipped. Didn’t hear the words. You walked to the bus stop and stared at the road and felt something hot and frustrated sitting in your chest that you didn’t have a clean name for.
He texted at nine that night.
Riki: I’m sorry about today
You stared at it.
Riki: I get like that sometimes. I don’t like it.
Another one, a minute later.
Riki: It wasn’t about Sunghoon. It wasn’t about you.
Riki: ok it was about Sunghoon.
You sat on your bed with your phone in your hand and read that three times.
you: do you want to tell me what “getting like that” means??
A pause. Longer than his usual response time.
Riki: Not over text. Wednesday?
you: yeah
you: Riki, Sunghoon was just being friendly
Riki: I know. I know that. It doesn’t always
The message cut off. Like he’d deleted the end of it and sent what was left.
Riki: Wednesday. I’ll explain.
Riki: night Y/N
You got there at three. Jay handed you your coffee without being asked and then found somewhere else to be, which meant Riki had said something to him beforehand, which meant he’d been thinking about this. Riki was at the counter. He looked up when you came in and the usual ease wasn’t fully there — not gone, just quieter, like he’d dialed something back. “Hey,” he said.
“Hey.” You sat down. Wrapped both hands around the coffee. “So.”
“So.” He exhaled. Looked at the counter for a second, then at you. “I get possessive.” He said it straight. No build up, no softening — just put it on the counter between you like something he’d decided you should see.
“Okay,” you said.
“I don’t like it,” he said. “It’s not — I’m not trying to make it your problem. I know Sunghoon wasn’t doing anything. I know you weren’t doing anything. It just—” He stopped. His jaw shifted. “It sits wrong. Someone else in your space. Being the thing making you laugh.”
You looked at him. His eyes were on the counter, which was unusual — Riki who held eye contact through everything. “Has it always been like that?” you said.
“Yeah.” Simple. “Better than it used to be.”
“What was it like before?”
He looked up. “Worse.” A pause. “I dealt with it badly. I’m not—” He stopped again. “I’m not like that anymore. I don’t act on it. But I feel it and sometimes it makes me go quiet and disappear into my own head and that’s not fair to you.”
You sat with that. “Why are you telling me this?” you said.
He held your gaze. “Because you asked.”
“People don’t always answer when you ask.”
“I know.” Something in his face. “You should know what you’re—” He stopped himself again, and you heard the end of that sentence clearly even without the words. What you’re getting into. What I am.
“Riki,” you said. “If Sunghoon had been doing something—” You held his eyes. “Or anyone. I’d handle it. That’s not— I’m not someone who needs protecting from other people’s attention.”
“I know that.”
“But I’m also not—” You paused. Chose the words. “I’m not interested in other people’s attention. Okay? That’s just—” You shrugged. “That’s just where I’m at.”
The silence that followed had weight to it. Riki looked at you. Really looked — the way he did sometimes, like he was reading something underneath the surface of what you’d said, like he was checking if you meant it.You meant it. “Okay,” he said quietly.
“Okay,” you said.
He exhaled. Something in his shoulders dropped slightly — barely visible, but there. “Tragus,” he said.
“Tragus,” you agreed. He stood up from the stool. And as he passed behind the counter his hand came down briefly on yours where it rested on the surface — just for a second, just his fingers over your knuckles, warm and solid — and then he was moving through to the piercing section and the moment was gone.
You sat there for a second. Then you followed him. Across the room Jay looked at Heeseung in the doorway of his office. Heeseung looked back. Neither of them said anything.
It happened on a Friday. Not a Wednesday. Not planned. You’d come in with Hana at five because she’d finally committed to a small piece on her ankle and wanted moral support, and by the time Jake was finishing up the linework the shop had emptied out — Sunghoon’s last client gone, Jay heading out with his jacket half on, Heeseung locking his office with his keys already in his hand. “You good to close?” Heeseung said to Riki.
“Yeah.” Riki was wiping down the front counter. “Go.” Heeseung looked at you. Brief, unreadable. Looked back at Riki. Said nothing and left. Jay pointed finger guns at you on his way out. You ignored him.
Jake finished Hana’s piece at half past six. She sat up and looked at it in the mirror with the expression of someone who had just made a very good decision, and then she looked at you and at Riki and made a different kind of decision entirely. “I’ll get a cab,” she said.
“I’ll come,” you said.
“You don’t have to.” Serene. Innocent. Absolutely deliberate. “I’m fine on my own.”
“Hana—”
“I’ll text you when I’m home.” She hugged you, said goodbye to Jake, said goodbye to Riki with a smile that communicated volumes, and then she was gone and Jake was heading out behind her and the door swung shut and the shop was quiet.
Just you and Riki. He was at the front counter. You were near the piercing section. The red light was low and the playlist had shifted to something slower, something with bass underneath it, and the flash art on the walls looked different when there was no one else here — more intimate, like the shop had exhaled. “You can head,” Riki said. He wasn’t looking at you. Wiping the counter, routine.
“I know,” you said.
You didn’t move. He stopped wiping. The silence lasted four seconds. You counted. Then he looked up. The expression on his face wasn’t the smirk. Wasn’t the work focus. It was something stripped back — something that had been running underneath everything for weeks and was apparently done waiting. “Y/N,” he said. Low.
“Yeah,” you said. Like you were answering a question he hadn’t asked yet.
He put the cloth down. He came around the counter and crossed the floor and he didn’t stop until he was right in front of you, close enough that you had to tilt your chin up slightly, and his hand came up to your jaw — not grabbing, just his fingers along the side of your face, tilting you toward him — and he looked at you for one more second like he was making absolutely sure.
Whatever he saw made his mind up. He kissed you and it was nothing like the slow build you’d been expecting — it was immediate, certain, his mouth on yours like he’d been thinking about it for weeks because he had been, and you got your hands into his shirt and kissed him back and the sound he made low in his throat did something catastrophic to your ability to think.
His hands moved — jaw, then your waist, pulling you in until there was no space left between you — and you felt the rings on his fingers through the fabric of your top and his body was solid and warm and there, fully there, nothing held back.
You bit his lower lip without planning to. He pulled back half an inch. His eyes were dark, his breathing had changed, and he looked at you with an expression that rearranged something in your chest. “Do that again,” he said quietly, “and we’re not stopping.”
“Good,” you said. And you did it again. He walked you back until your shoulders hit the wall beside the piercing partition — not rough, controlled, one hand flat against the wall beside your head and the other at your waist, and he kissed you deeper this time, slower, like he had you exactly where he wanted and wasn’t in any rush now that he did.
His tongue — god, his tongue, the bar was there and present and you felt it and made a sound into his mouth that you would have been embarrassed about if his hand hadn’t tightened on your waist the second you did it. “There it is,” he said against your mouth.
“Shut up,” you breathed.
“You’ve been thinking about it.” Not a question. His lips moved to your jaw, your neck, unhurried. “Since I told you.”
“Riki—”
“Yes,” he said, quoting you back to yourself, and you felt him smile against your throat.
“You’re so—”
“I know.” He pulled back to look at you. His hair was slightly wrecked, his eyes were very dark, and he looked at you with the kind of focus he usually reserved for his work — total, precise, like you were something he intended to get exactly right. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you to stop talking,” you said.
“No you don’t.” He was right. You didn’t.
“I want—” You stopped. His thumb had found the hem of your top, tracing the skin at your waist, barely moving, just there. Your brain was doing something unhelpful. “I want you to keep going.”
“Keep going,” he repeated. Like he was logging it. “That’s not very specific.”
“Riki.”
“I want to hear you say it.” His voice had dropped, lower than usual, and there was something in it — not a demand exactly, more like an invitation with weight behind it, like he already knew and wanted you to catch up. “Tell me.”
You looked at him. He looked back, steady, patient, his thumb still tracing that small arc at your waist.
“I’ve wanted you for weeks,” you said. “You know that.”
“I know.” He leaned in, his mouth at your ear. “I wanted to hear you say it.” His hands moved — both of them, finding the hem of your top, sliding underneath to your bare waist, warm palms spreading across your skin — and you exhaled shakily and his mouth came back to yours and the patience dissolved.
Somewhere on the walk from the counter to the wall you got his shirt off and you put your hands on his chest and then his stomach and then lower and found the waistband of his jeans and his breath caught — actually caught, an involuntary thing, the first crack in the steady control — and you looked up at him.
His jaw was tight. His eyes were dark and fixed on your face. “Keep going,” he said. His own words back. Low and rough. You undid his jeans. Your hand found him and he was — there was a Jacob’s ladder — you stopped. He watched your face process it.
“Riki,” you said.
“Yeah.” His voice was rough now, the evenness wearing thin at the edges.
“When were you going to—”
“When it came up.”
“It’s come up.”
“It has,” he agreed, and something in his expression was almost amused except he was too far gone for amused, too focused, his hands gripping your waist with more pressure than before. “Still want to keep going?”
You looked at him. “Are you serious right now.”
He laughed — real, brief, surprised out of him — and then his forehead dropped to yours and you felt him exhale and then his mouth was on yours again and the laughing was done. Your jacket off your shoulders and it hit the floor and his mouth was on your throat before it landed — open, hot, his tongue against your pulse point and the piercing bar cool against your skin and you made a sound that echoed off the black walls. “Riki—”
“I know.” His hands were at the hem of your top, shoving it up, impatient in a way that cracked the usual control wide open. “Off.”
You got it off and his hands were on your tits and his mouth came back to yours.
He walked you back into the wall beside the piercing partition — not slow, not careful, just direct — and pinned you there with his body and his hands were everywhere and yours were too and it was nothing like the slow careful thing you’d half imagined. It was desperate. Both of you. Weeks of it.
“You have no idea,” he said against your jaw, your throat, lower, his mouth on your collarbone, “how long I’ve—” He stopped. His teeth grazed your skin. “Fuck.”
“Tell me,” you breathed.
“Since you walked in here in that dress,” he said into your skin. “Since you leaned on my counter and looked at me like that. I’ve been—” His hands found your jeans, the button, the zip. “Since then.” He shoved your jeans down your hips and you kicked them off and his hand pushed between your thighs and found your pussy through the thin fabric still there and pressed and your hips rolled forward hard.
“There,” he said. Low, rough, satisfied. “There you are.” His fingers moved — slow, deliberate, feeling the heat of you through the fabric — and he looked at your face while he did it. Watching. Taking everything. “Soaked already,” he said. “Were you like this the whole time?”
“Don’t—” you started.
“You were.” He pushed the fabric aside and his fingers touched your folds directly and you choked on a breath. The rings were cold, the contrast of it shocking and good and — “Riki—”
“Good girl,” he said quietly. Like it meant something. Like you’d done something right just by responding to him. His fingers moved through your folds and found your clit and you grabbed his shoulders and held on. “So wet. So fucking — look at you.”
“Please—”
“Please what.” His fingers kept moving, unhurried despite everything, despite the fact that you could feel how much he wanted this — felt it against your hip, hard, his own breathing gone ragged at the edges. “Say it.”
“I need—”
“Say it, Y/N.”
“I need you to fuck me,” you said. “Now, Riki, please—” He made a sound low in his throat and his fingers disappeared and he was shoving his own jeans down, just enough, barely, one hand braced on the wall beside your head — and then he looked at you, dark eyes and wrecked hair and jaw set hard.
“Here?” he said. Rough. “Right here?”
“Yes—”
His hand found your pussy again, two fingers pushing inside, testing, and you made an embarrassing sound and he groaned at the feel of you — “fuck you’re—” — and then his fingers were gone and he was there, the head of his cock at your entrance, and you hooked your leg over his hip. He pushed in. Both of you went still. His forehead dropped to yours. Your nails were in his shoulders. The Jacob’s ladder — you felt every single one and your mouth fell open and you heard him exhale shakily above you. “Riki—”
“I know.” His voice was barely there. “I know, just — fuck — just give me a second—”
“Don’t stop,” you said. “Don’t stop, keep—”
He moved. There was nothing controlled about it. That was the thing — Riki who was steady and certain and always in possession of himself — gone. Completely. He fucked you against the wall with his jeans half down and yours on the floor and his rings cold against your thigh where he’d hooked your leg higher and the bar of his tongue in his teeth when he looked at you and it was overwhelming, the closeness of it, the sound of it in the empty shop.
“Good,” he said, rough and low, his hips rolling into you, setting a pace that had your head dropping back against the wall. “Good girl, just like — yeah, just like that—”
“More—”
“Yeah?” He shifted his angle and you cried out and he did it again, deliberate, watching your face. “There?”
“Yes — yes, don’t stop—”
“I’ve got you.” His mouth found your throat. “I’ve got you, you’re doing so — fuck, Y/N, you feel—” He broke off. His rhythm stuttered and recovered. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”
The praise landed somewhere it had no business landing, warm and devastating, and your hips were moving to meet him and your clit was grinding against him with every thrust and you were already… “Riki I’m going to—”
“Do it,” he said immediately. “Cum for me. Come on.” His hand moved between you and his thumb found your clit and pressed and you shattered — your whole body going taut, his name in your mouth, your nails breaking skin on his shoulders — and he fucked you through it, relentless, not letting up—
“That’s it,” he said against your ear, rough and wrecked. “That’s it, good girl, god you’re—” He followed you over the edge not long after — his rhythm breaking, his breath gone, his forehead hard against the wall beside your head — and the sound he made when he came was low and helpless and you felt it everywhere.
There was silence that followed apart from the playlist over the shop speakers. The red light under the door still illuminated. Both of you still against the wall like butter of you planned to move soon, his weight partly on you and partly on his arm and neither of you in any hurry to fix that.
Your leg slid down from his hip. He pulled back enough to look at your face. His hair was completely wrecked. His mouth was slightly swollen. He looked at you with an expression that had nothing performed in it — just open, just him, something that hadn’t had a name all this time and still didn’t quite yet. “Hi,” he said.
You laughed. Surprised out of you, real. He smiled — the real one, the one that changed his whole face — and pressed it briefly into your hair.
You found the back room couch eventually. His shirt on your shoulders. The rings back on his fingers because he’d put them on out of habit and then looked at his own hands like he hadn’t noticed himself doing it. You lay on your back. He sat with his back against the couch, forearm on his knee, looking at the floor. “So,” you said.
“So,” he said.
“What happens now?” you said.
He was quiet for a moment. “What do you want?”
You thought about the card in your bag. The Wednesdays. The way he’d looked at you across the counter every single time like you were a decision he’d already made. “I don’t know yet,” you said. Honest.
“Okay,” he said. Easy. No pressure in it. His hand found yours in the dark. Didn’t make anything of it. Just held on. You stayed on the couch until the playlist rolled over twice. At some point the I don’t know yet became irrelevant because his mouth found your throat again and his hands were back under his shirt on your skin and the question got buried under something more immediate.
You left at nine. He walked you to the door. Held it open, leaned in the frame. The cold air hit you and you turned back. He looked wrecked and unbothered about it. Shirt on, jeans done up, rings on every finger. Hair a disaster. Looking at you with that expression — the settled one, the certain one. “Wednesday,” he said. You nodded.
Neither of you said anything about what it was. That was the agreement, unspoken, the way most things between you and Riki were unspoken. You came in on Wednesdays. Sometimes other days. Sometimes he texted at ten at night — nothing explicit, just you up or studio’s empty — and you went, and nobody named what that meant. It worked. Mostly.
The sex was — there wasn’t a word for it that didn’t sound inadequate. Compulsive was close. Inevitable was closer. Like once the wall had come down neither of you had any interest in rebuilding it, like your bodies had been having a conversation for months and were now just speaking plainly.
He learned you fast. Faster than anyone had. What made you gasp versus what made you come apart completely. The difference between what you asked for and what you actually wanted. He paid attention the way he paid attention to everything — totally, precisely — and used it with a focus that should have been illegal.
You learned him too. That the control was real but thin in the right circumstances. That his jaw set right before it cracked. That he made sounds he didn’t seem to know he was making. That he said your name differently when he was close — shorter, sharper, like he didn’t have room for the full shape of it. That he always, always pulled you back when you tried to move away after. Not possessive. Just — unwilling to let the warmth go yet. You were trying very hard not to think about what that meant.
Three weeks after the first time, on a Tuesday night, you were in the back room of Studio 13 with Riki’s shirt on the floor and your jeans somewhere near the door and his mouth on your throat and his hand between your thighs and the playlist coming through the walls and everything was fine, everything was exactly what it was, unnamed and manageable —
And then he said I’ve got you in that low rough voice right against your ear and something in your chest did a thing it wasn’t supposed to do. You filed it away. Dealt with it later. Later didn’t come because he did something with his tongue that made later completely irrelevant.
Wednesday afternoon. Counter. Coffee. Normal. Easy. The same as it had always been except for the part where it wasn’t because now you knew exactly what his hands felt like and what sounds he made and what his face looked like when the composure cracked and sitting on the other side of a counter from him in the middle of the afternoon was — a different experience than it used to be.
He was telling you something about a client — complicated custom piece, back and forth for weeks on the design — and you were listening and also watching his hands move when he talked, the rings catching the light, and thinking about those hands on your waist last night and… “Y/N.”
You looked up. He was looking at you with the quiet knowing expression. “I was listening,” you said.
“You weren’t.”
“I was. Custom piece. Back and forth on the design. Client keeps changing their mind.”
He tilted his head slightly. The corner of his mouth. “What were you thinking about?”
“The flash art.”
“Hm.” He leaned on the counter. His forearms right there, the sleeve on full display, and he looked at you with that unhurried certainty. “You were looking at my hands.”
“I was looking at your rings.”
“Y/N.”
“They’re interesting rings.”
He held your gaze for a long moment. Then he looked down at his hands, turned them over slowly, looked back up at you with an expression that was doing something to your ability to function. “Come back tonight,” he said.
“I was here last night.”
“I know.”
“And the night before.”
“I know.” He didn’t look remotely apologetic. “Come back tonight.”
You looked at him. “We should probably — this probably shouldn’t be—”
“Probably,” he agreed, like the word meant nothing.
“Riki.”
“Tonight, Y/N.”
You looked at your coffee. At him. At the rings on his hands that you had been thinking about and were now not admitting to thinking about. “Fine,” you said.
He picked up his own coffee. Satisfied. Like there had never been any other outcome. From across the shop Jay said nothing. He had learned, over the past three weeks, that saying things got him absolutely nowhere and had adapted accordingly. He simply made eye contact with Sunghoon across the room and they had an entire conversation without words.
That night after Studio 13 closed, which had become its own specific thing — the red light, the quiet, the shop breathing differently when it was empty. Riki had barely locked the front door before you were crossing the floor toward him and his expression when he turned around and saw you moving like that— “Hi,” he said.
“Hi.” You reached him. Your hands went to his chest, his jaw, pulling him down, and he came without resistance, his hands finding your waist immediately, already knowing where to go.
He kissed you slow this time. Deliberately slow, like he was making a point, like the urgency of the last few weeks had shifted into something that wanted to take its time. That was somehow worse. “Riki,” you said against his mouth.
“Hm.”
“Stop going slow.”
“No.” He kissed your jaw. Your throat. Slow and deliberate, his hands sliding under your top to your bare waist. “I spent all afternoon thinking about this.”
“So did I, that’s why—”
“That’s why we’re taking our time.” His mouth at your collarbone. “I want to—” A pause. His lips against your skin. “I want to take you apart properly. Not fast.”
Your hands tightened in his hair. “That’s not fair,” you said.
“No,” he agreed, and kept going. He got your top off and looked at you in the low light the way he always did — that slow, unapologetic assessment that moved over you like you were worth looking at carefully — and then his mouth found your tits and your head fell back.
His tongue. The bar of it, cool and present, circling your nipple, and you made a sound and his hands tightened on your waist. “Good girl,” he said against your skin. “Just like that.”
“Riki—”
“I’ve got you.” He moved to the other side, same slow attention, his hands holding your waist like you might float away. “I’ve got you, just — yeah, just feel it.” You were going to lose your mind. Your hands found his shirt and he let you get it off and then he was walking you back to the couch in the back room and laying you down and looking at you from above with dark eyes and that expression — the open one, the one that had no performance in it.
He got your jeans off slow. His hands running down your thighs as he pulled them, his mouth following, pressing to your hip, the inside of your knee, and by the time he got back up to your folds you were already soaked. “Riki, please—”
“Please what.” His breath against your inner thigh. Close, not close enough.
“Please—”
“Tell me what you want.” His lips brushed your folds, barely, just the suggestion of pressure. “Tell me.”
“Your mouth,” you said. “Please, your mouth—” He gave it to you. The bar of his tongue against your clit and you grabbed the back of the couch and held on. He ate your pussy like he had nowhere else to be — thorough, focused, the same attention he gave everything — and the sounds he made against you, low and hungry, like he was getting something from it—
“God—” your hips rolled and his hands held them down, firm, keep still, and the loss of control of that made it worse in the best way. “Riki I’m — don’t stop, don’t—”
“Not stopping,” he said against your clit. “Cum for me. Come on.”
You did. He worked you through it until you were pulling at his hair telling him too much, too much and he pressed one last kiss to your inner thigh and came back up your body and looked at your face with an expression that was — satisfied wasn’t the right word. Reverent was closer, which was a thing you were absolutely not processing right now. “Good girl,” he said quietly.
“Stop calling me that,” you said, breathless.
“No,” he said simply, and kissed you.
When he finally pushed inside you both exhaled like something had been solved. Slow, this time. Deep. His forehead against yours, his arms bracketing you, his rings cool against the side of your face where his hand was. “Okay?” he said.
“Yeah.” Your voice wasn’t working right. “Yeah, keep — please keep going.”
He moved. Slow, deep rolls of his hips that had you feeling every ridge of the ladder on every stroke and your mouth kept falling open and he watched it happen. “You feel it,” he said. Low, not a question.
“Yes—”
“Good.” His hips rolled deeper and you gasped. “That’s good, you’re so — fuck, Y/N—” His composure was fraying at the edges, the rhythm getting less controlled. “You take me so well. Every time. Like you were—” He stopped himself.
You looked up at him. His jaw was set, his eyes dark, something moving behind them that he’d just pulled back from saying. “Like I was what,” you said.
He looked at you. For a second — just a second — something was right there on his face, unguarded, something that went past the physical and landed somewhere neither of you had named yet. He kissed you instead of answering.
You let him. Filed it away. Pulled him closer and let the question dissolve into the drag and heat of him moving inside you and his mouth on yours and his hand sliding between you to find your clit— “Riki—”
“I know,” he said. “I know, come on, cum for me again, you can—”
“I can’t—”
“You can.” His thumb on your clit, his cock deep, his voice at your ear. “You can, good girl, come on, let me feel you—” You came with his name in your mouth and your whole body shaking and he followed you with his face pressed into your throat and the sound he made was low and broken and yours.
After his thumb moving slow at your hip. The ceiling. The playlist. You were thinking about like you were— and what came after it. You were thinking about I’ve got you and how he said it every time, always, like a reflex, like something that came from somewhere deeper than the moment.
You were thinking about the fact that you knew what his laugh sounded like — the real one, the surprised one — and that you’d been collecting these things without meaning to and the collection was getting heavy. “Riki,” you said.
“Hm.”
“What are we doing.”
Silence. His thumb stopped moving. Then, carefully: “What do you want to be doing.”
You stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”
He was quiet for a long moment. You could feel him thinking — that specific quality of his silences, weighted, considering. “I’m not good at this part,” he said.
“What part.”
“The—” A pause. “Saying things.”
“You say things to me all the time.”
“Not these things.”
You turned your head to look at him. He was looking at the ceiling, jaw slightly tight, the expression of someone navigating something carefully. “What things,” you said quietly.
He turned his head. Your faces close in the dim light. His eyes moved over yours. “I don’t want you going anywhere,” he said. Finally. Quietly. “That’s — that’s what I’ve got right now.”
It wasn’t everything. You both knew it wasn’t everything. But it was Riki, who didn’t say things, saying a thing, and it landed with the weight of something much larger behind it.“Okay,” you said.
“Okay,” he said. His thumb started moving again. You looked back at the ceiling. The unnamed thing stayed unnamed. But it was there, in the room with you, and you both knew it.
The thing about not naming something was that it didn’t stop it from being a thing. It just meant you had no language for it when it started to matter. Four weeks into whatever this was, Ria staged an intervention.
Not a dramatic one — she didn’t have people over or make a presentation, she just showed up at your flat on a Saturday morning with coffee and pastries and sat across from you at your kitchen table with the expression of someone who had been patient for a very long time and was cashing that in now. “Talk,” she said.
“About what.”
“Y/N.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say, Ria.”
“I want you to say what’s happening with Riki.”
You picked up your coffee. “We’re—”
“If you say friends I’m leaving and taking the pastries.”
You put your coffee down. “It’s complicated.”
“Is it? Or is it simple and you’re making it complicated because you’re scared?”
You looked at her. She looked back with the patience of someone who had known you for six years and had seen every version of your avoidance. “We haven’t put a name on it,” you said.
“Why not.”
“Because—” You stopped. Because he’d said I don’t want you going anywhere and you’d said okay and neither of you had pushed past that. Because every Wednesday and every late night felt like building something and neither of you would say what you were building. “It’s working the way it is.”
“Is it.”
“Yes.”
“You like him.”
“Obviously.”
“Like like him.”
“Ria—”
“Y/N.” She leaned forward. “You went back to that shop every week for two months before anything happened. You know his coffee order, his schedule, what makes him laugh. You’ve met his friends. He checks your piercings as an excuse to be close to you.” She paused. “That’s not complicated. That’s you being terrified.”
You stared at the table. “He’s not easy to read,” you said. Finally.
“He gave you his personal card the night he met you,” Ria said. “Heeseung told me he’d never done that before.”
“When did you talk to Heeseung?”
“Jake texts me sometimes.”
“Jake texts you.”
“That’s not the point.” She pushed a pastry toward you. “The point is that boy is absolutely gone for you and you both keep dancing around it and it’s making everyone at Studio 13 insane, apparently.”
“Everyone?”
“Jay’s exact words were if they don’t sort it out soon I’m locking them in the back room.”
You put your face in your hands. “I don’t know how to do this with him,” you said, muffled. “He doesn’t say things. I don’t push. We just—”
“So say something first,” Ria said simply. “You’re not someone who waits, Y/N. That’s not you. You’re doing it because you’re scared he won’t say it back.” You lifted your face. Said nothing. She was right and you both knew it.
You didn’t say anything that Wednesday. You came close — sitting at the counter, coffee in hand, Riki talking about something, his rings on the desk, his eyes finding yours every few sentences the way they always did — and the words were right there, and you looked at his face, and you thought about Ria’s voice saying terrified, and you said nothing. He looked at you at one point like he knew something was moving behind your eyes. “What,” he said.
“Nothing.” You smiled. “Keep going.” He held your gaze for a second. Let it go.
The following Saturday Sunghoon texted you. Not unusual — you’d exchanged numbers for shop-related things, flash piece ideas, scheduling. He was easy to talk to, straightforward, the kind of person whose texts read exactly like his voice.
Sunghoon: hey, you said you were thinking about a collarbone piece right
you: yeah still thinking
Sunghoon: I drew something. wanna see
He sent a photo. Small, delicate, blackwork — something botanical, two thin stems crossing, minimal and precise. It was exactly your taste and you had no idea how he’d known that.
you: sunghoon this is gorgeous
Sunghoon: right? come in monday, I’ll show you the full size version. riki’s off monday so it’ll be quiet
you: sounds good, see you then
You didn’t think anything of it. Sunghoon was your friend. He’d drawn something for you. You were going to look at it. You didn’t mention it to Riki because there was nothing to mention.
Monday the shop was quieter without Riki in it, which was a thing you noticed and filed away as information you didn’t love having. Sunghoon had the drawing laid out on the counter when you arrived — full size, done properly on transfer paper, and it was even better than the photo. You stood over it with him pointing out the details, his hand close to yours on the paper, talking through placement and sizing and whether to add a third stem.
Jay was pretending to do something at the other counter.bHeeseung was in his office with the door open. “Here,” Sunghoon said, and pressed the transfer paper lightly to your collarbone to show you the placement. His hand steadied it against your skin, professional, and you looked in the mirror and thought yes, that was exactly right. Your phone lit up on the counter.
Riki: you at the shop?
You looked at it. Jay looked at it. Sunghoon didn’t see it.
you: yeah, sunghoon drew something for me. just looking at placement
The three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Riki: k
One letter.
Riki: looks good?
you: really good actually. he’s talented
The dots again. Then nothing. No reply. You put your phone down. Sunghoon was still talking about the third stem. You looked at the transfer in the mirror and tried to pay attention and felt something uneasy settle in your chest.
Riki was at the counter when you arrived Wednesday. You knew within ten seconds that something was wrong. Not visibly wrong — he looked the same, said hey the same, had your coffee ready the same. But his eyes when they met yours were flatter than usual. The warmth was there but dimmed, like something had been turned down. You sat. Picked up your coffee. “How was your day off?” you said.
“Fine.” He was looking at his phone.
“Did you do anything?”
“Not much.” Jay appeared from the back, clocked the atmosphere in approximately two seconds, and disappeared again.
You watched Riki scroll his phone. His jaw was set. Not dramatically — just tight, controlled, the way it got when he was holding something still. “Riki,” you said.
“Hm.”
“Look at me.” He looked up. The flat quality was more visible face to face. Something was moving behind his eyes that he was keeping on a very short leash. “What’s wrong?” you said.
“Nothing.”
“You’ve said twelve words since I got here.”
“I’ve been busy.”
You looked at him. He looked back, and you could see the effort of it — the effort of sitting in whatever this was and keeping it even. “Is this about Monday?” you said.
Something shifted in his jaw. “No.”
“Riki.”
“It’s not about Monday.”
“So it is about Monday.”
He put his phone down. Flat on the counter. He looked at you with an expression that was very controlled and also not controlled at all if you knew what to look for, and you knew what to look for now. “You went in on my day off,” he said.
“Sunghoon drew something for me. I told you.”
“I know what you told me.”
“Then what—”
“His hands were on you.” Quiet. Final. Like he’d been sitting on it for two days and it had compacted into something very small and very dense.
You stared at him. “He was showing me placement. For a tattoo. That’s his job.”
“I know that.”
“Then—”
“I know that, Y/N.” His voice was still even but something was pushing at the edges of it. “I know it doesn’t mean anything. I know Sunghoon wasn’t — I know.” He looked at the counter. “It doesn’t stop it feeling—” He stopped.
“Feeling what,” you said. He was quiet for a long moment.
“Wrong,” he said. “It feels wrong. Someone else’s hands on you feels wrong and I don’t know how to make that—” He stopped again. His thumb pressed against the counter. “I’m trying to be rational about it.”
“You went quiet for two days,” you said.
“I know.”
“That’s not — Riki, you can’t just go quiet every time something—”
“I know.” He looked up. His eyes were direct now, no flatness, just the real thing underneath — something frustrated and raw and tired of itself. “I know it’s not fair. I’m telling you I know that. I just—” A breath. “I don’t know how to feel it and not do that. I’m working on it.”
You looked at him for a long moment. “You went quiet instead of talking to me,” you said.
“Yes.”
“And you’re telling me now because I pushed.”
“Yes.” He held your gaze. “I would have told you. I just needed to — I needed it to be smaller before I could say it without it being—” He gestured vaguely. “A lot.”
“Is it smaller now?”
“Somewhat.”
You picked up your coffee. Looked at it. Put it down. “You know that there’s nothing—” you started.
“I know.” Immediately. “Y/N, I know. This isn’t about you. This isn’t about Sunghoon. It’s mine, it’s a me thing, and I’m not trying to make it your problem.”
“It becomes my problem when you disappear.”
“I know.” His jaw shifted. “I’m sorry.”
You looked at him. He looked back, steady, the thing behind his eyes open now in the way it only got when he’d pushed past the control on purpose — when he was giving you something deliberately. “Don’t disappear,” you said. “Whatever it is — just say it. To me. Not in your head for two days.”
“Okay,” he said. His hand moved across the counter and covered yours briefly — the rings cool, the weight of his palm familiar. “Okay, Y/N.”
The touch lasted a few seconds. He didn’t make anything of it. Just let it be there and then pulled back. From the back room, completely audibly, Jay said to someone: “finally.”
“Jay,” Riki said flatly.
“I’m just saying—”
“Jay.”
That night, late. He was in your flat, his idea — he’d texted at nine, not you up or studio’s empty but just your name, which was new. He was on your couch with his legs stretched out and his head back and his eyes on your ceiling and you were beside him close enough to feel the warmth of him and neither of you had moved toward the other yet. Just sitting. Existing in the same space. “Can I ask you something?” you said.
“Yeah.”
“The possessiveness.” You kept your voice even. “Where does it come from.”
A pause. He was quiet long enough that you thought he might not answer. “Control,” he said finally. “Or — fear of losing it. Things I care about.” His thumb moved against his own knee. “I spent a long time in situations where things got taken. People I — things I couldn’t protect.” He stopped. “I don’t talk about it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.” A pause. “I want to. I just — not yet.”
Not yet. Not never. Not it’s not your business. Not yet meant there was a timeline. Meant he was thinking about it. Meant you were someone he was moving toward telling.
You leaned your head against his shoulder. He went still for a second — surprised, you thought, by the smallness of it, the casualness — and then his head dropped against yours and you felt him exhale. “The collarbone piece,” he said eventually. “Let me do it.”
You lifted your head. Looked at him. “You do tattoos?”
“Heeseung taught me. I’m not on the books for it but—” He met your eyes. “I want to do it. If you want.”
Sunghoon’s drawing. Riki’s hands. “Yeah,” you said. “Okay.”
Something settled in his face. Quiet and satisfied in a way that had nothing to do with the smirk. “Okay,” he said.
You put your head back on his shoulder. His arm moved — slow, like he was checking it was allowed — and settled around you. The unnamed thing pressed closer. Neither of you named it. But his arm tightened slightly and you let it, and that was something too.
The collarbone piece took two sessions. Riki had been clear about that upfront — small piece, delicate linework, he wanted to do it right and doing it right meant not rushing. You’d sat in the chair in the back room of Studio 13 on a quiet Tuesday morning with his hands on your collarbone and his face close and his full attention on the work and tried very hard to be normal about it. You were not normal about it. “Stop tensing,” he said, without looking up.
“I’m not tensing.”
“Your shoulder is up by your ear.” You lowered your shoulder. He glanced up briefly — dark eyes, the focus in them softening for just a second when they met yours — and then back down. “First line’s the worst,” he said. “Then you’ll settle.”
“I’ve been tattooed before.”
“Not by me.” He said it simply. Like it was just a fact. Which it was. But the way he said it landed like something more — like not by me was its own category, its own distinct experience, and he was right, as it turned out, because when the needle touched your collarbone the small shock of it dissolved almost immediately into the warmth of his hands steadying you and his voice saying good, just like that, breathe — and you settled.
You watched his face while he worked. This version of him — the work version, focused and quiet and completely present — was one of your favorites. All the usual energy went inward. The smirk was gone, the easy confidence was still there but different, channeled into precision. He moved the machine in small careful arcs and his free hand was always on you, always steadying, always aware of exactly how much pressure to use. “You’re staring,” he said.
“You said that to me once before.”
“You were staring then too.”
“Maybe I just have a specific staring problem.”
The corner of his mouth moved. He didn’t look up. “Maybe you do.”
He kissed you after the session. Not immediately — he’d finished, stepped back, examined the work with that quiet critical eye, declared it good. You’d looked in the mirror and felt something warm move through your chest at the sight of it — the two stems, thin and precise, sitting exactly right on your collarbone. “It’s perfect,” you said.
“I know.” He was already at the sink, washing his hands, and you could hear the smile in it even without seeing his face. You got up from the chair. Crossed the small space between you. And when he turned around you were right there and his expression shifted — from satisfied work-focus to something more personal, more immediate — and you put your hand on his jaw and kissed him.
He kissed you back with his damp hands at your waist, careful not to touch the fresh tattoo, and it was slow and unhurried and tasted like coffee and something that was just him and when you pulled back his eyes stayed closed for a second. Opened. Looked at you. “Hi,” he said quietly.
“Hi,” you said. His thumb moved at your waist. The rings. The warmth of his palms through your shirt.
“Come back Thursday for the second session,” he said.
“I know, you told me.”
“Just making sure.” He kissed you again before you could respond — quick, soft, his mouth on yours for just a moment — and then stepped back and handed you the aftercare sheet and was professional again, mostly, except for the way his eyes followed you to the door.
Thursday’s second session was longer. More detail, more shading on the stems, a small shadow that made the whole thing lift off the skin. You sat in the chair and he worked and you talked — properly talked, the way you did at the counter but quieter, more contained, just the two of you in the partitioned space.
He told you about growing up. Small things — not the things he kept locked, but around the edges of them. A younger brother. Moving schools twice. Being good at things with his hands from early on, carving things, taking things apart to see how they worked. “Is that why the piercing?” you said.
“Partly.” He shifted the machine slightly. “Partly because it’s — immediate. You do it right and you see it right away. No waiting to find out.”
“You like knowing things work.”
He glanced up. “Yeah.”
“Control thing.”
A pause. “Yeah,” he said again, quieter. You let that sit. Didn’t push.
“Tell me something else,” he said, after a moment. Deflecting but not — more like redirecting, like he wanted the conversation to keep going just in a different direction.
So you told him things. About your course, your family, the flat you’d moved into two years ago that still didn’t feel completely yours. The way Ria had been your anchor through everything since you were sixteen. How you’d wanted to study abroad and hadn’t and sometimes still thought about it. “Why didn’t you?” he said.
“Felt like running away from something.”
“Were you?”
You thought about it. “Probably.”
He looked up. His eyes on yours, level. “What were you running from.”
“Someone,” you said. “It doesn’t matter now.”
He held your gaze for a moment. You watched something move through his expression — something careful, something that might have been jealousy at its very distant edges but was mostly just — paying attention. Storing it. Like everything you gave him went somewhere it would be kept.
“Their loss,” he said. Simply. Looked back down. You looked at the top of his head and felt the unnamed thing press against your ribs from the inside.
He finished the piece in two hours. You both looked at it in the mirror — his chin near your shoulder, your reflection side by side — and neither of you said anything for a moment. “Well,” you said.
“Yeah,” he said. It was exactly right. Better than right. The kind of thing that looked like it had always been there, like your skin had been waiting for it.
You turned. He was right there, closer than you’d clocked, and you put both hands on his chest and looked up at him and he looked down at you and the moment expanded slightly. “Thank you,” you said.
“Don’t thank me.”
“Riki—”
“It was for me as much as you,” he said. Quiet. Direct. No smirk in it. “I wanted to put something on you. That’s—” He stopped. His jaw shifted. “That’s a me thing. Don’t thank me for it.”
You looked at him. He looked back, steady, and the naked quality of what he’d just said sat between you — I wanted to put something on you — and neither of you moved for a second.
Then you kissed him. Slow, deliberate, your hands spreading on his chest. He made a low sound and his arms came around you — gentle because of the fresh tattoo, careful, his hands at your back instead of your waist — and he kissed you back like he had time, like he wanted to use it.
When you broke apart he kept his forehead against yours. “Stay,” he said. Low. “Tonight. Just—” A pause. “Just stay.”
“Okay,” you said. You ate takeout on the floor of the back room because the couch was small and the floor had more space and Riki sat with his back against the couch and you sat between his legs with your back against his chest and it was so domestically comfortable that it was almost alarming.
He ate with one arm around you. His chin occasionally dropping to your shoulder to look at whatever you were showing him on your phone. His thumb making that small absent arc at your hip that he did when he wasn’t thinking about it.
“Ria thinks we need to define this,” you said, at some point. His arm didn’t tighten. Didn’t loosen. He was quiet for a moment.
“What do you think?” he said.
“I think Ria is right about most things.”
“Hm.” His thumb kept moving. “What would you define it as.”
You turned your head slightly. His face was close — close enough to see the detail of the scar through his eyebrow, the silver of his earring, the way he was looking at you with that careful open expression he only had when there was no one else around. “I don’t know,” you said. “What would you.”
“Mine,” he said. Quiet. Simple. Like it was the most obvious answer.
Your heart did something inconvenient. “That’s very you,” you said.
“Is it wrong?”
You turned back to face forward. His arm around you. The takeout. The red light. “No,” you said. “It’s not wrong.”
You felt him exhale against the back of your head. Slow, like something had released. His lips pressed briefly to your hair. Not a kiss exactly — too soft, too absent, more like a thing he did without deciding to.
You stayed on the floor until midnight. Talked about nothing important. Everything slightly important. He told you Jake was obviously falling for Hana and was handling it terribly, which you already knew, and you told him Ria had started texting Jake directly to speed the process along, which he did not know and which made him laugh — the real one, sudden, surprised. You stored it.
“I should go,” you said eventually. You had a nine AM seminar and the responsible thing—
“Yeah,” he said. Made no move to untangle himself from around you.
“Riki.”
“Five minutes.”
“You said that twenty minutes ago.”
“Five more minutes.” You leaned back into him and gave him the five minutes. He pressed his mouth to the side of your head again — that soft, absent thing, lips in your hair — and you closed your eyes and thought about mine and the way he’d said it like it was just the truth.
When you finally stood up he walked you to the door the way he always did. Unlocked it. Held it open. You turned back. He kissed you in the doorway — unhurried, thorough, one hand cupping your jaw and the other flat against the doorframe — and you kissed him back and it went on longer than a goodbye kiss needed to, longer than was practical, until he pulled back and looked at you with dark eyes and slightly wrecked composure.
“Wednesday,” he said. His thumb traced your jaw once before dropping.
“Wednesday,” you said. You made it to the end of the street. You looked back. He was still in the doorway, leaning on the frame, watching you go. When he saw you look he didn’t pretend he hadn’t been watching. Just held your gaze across the dark street. You turned back around and smiled at the pavement the whole way to the bus stop.
Heeseung had told everyone to come to his flat for dinner on Saturday — no occasion, just food, just all of them in the same place — and you’d arrived with Ria who had told you she’d been waiting for this invitation for weeks, which meant Jake had told her about it before Riki had told you, which meant something.
Heeseung’s flat was calm and dark-walled like the shop, art everywhere, music at a volume that allowed conversation. Jay was already there and immediately pulled Ria into an argument about something. Jake appeared from the kitchen and the way his face changed when he saw Ria was something you were going to tell Riki about later.
Riki was on the couch. He looked up when you came in and the smile that happened was immediate and unguarded — no performance, no build up, just his face doing the thing it did when you appeared, the thing you didn’t think he knew it did. He moved over without being asked. You sat beside him. Close. His arm went across the back of the couch behind you — not around you, but there, present, the rings near your shoulder.
Sunghoon arrived twenty minutes later and dropped onto the armchair across from you and looked at you both with an expression of great satisfaction. “You two sorted?” he said.
“Sunghoon,” Riki said.
“What? Last month you were—“ He stopped. “I’m just asking—”
“We’re sorted,” you said. Sunghoon grinned. Riki’s arm moved from the back of the couch to actually around your shoulders, like Sunghoon asking had given him permission to stop pretending he wasn’t doing it.
Dinner was loud and easy and everyone talked over everyone and Jay told a story about a client that got more elaborate every time he told it and Ria fit in like she’d always been there and Heeseung sat at the head of the table and said little and watched everything with quiet satisfaction.
After dinner you ended up back on the couch. Riki beside you, your legs across his, his hand resting on your ankle. The conversation had split across the room — Jay and Sunghoon, Ria and Jake in what looked like an increasingly interesting exchange, Heeseung in the kitchen. “You good?” Riki said quietly, just to you.
“Yeah.” You looked at the room. “This is nice.”
“They like you.”
“Jay likes everyone.”
“Heeseung doesn’t,” he said. Simple. “He likes you.”
You looked at him. “How can you tell?”
“He invited you.” He said it like it was obvious. “He doesn’t do this for everyone. He did it because—” A pause. His hand moved slightly on your ankle. “Because you’re—” He stopped.
“Because I’m what,” you said softly.
He looked at you. The room was noisy around you but it felt like it had contracted to just this, just his face and yours and the thing he was about to say. “Important,” he said. Quiet. “Because you’re important.”
Your heart did the inconvenient thing again, harder this time. “Riki,” you said.
“Yeah.”
“That word—”
“I know what word I used.” You looked at him. He looked back, steady, not taking it back, not softening it. Just — sitting in it, the way he sat in most things, patient and certain.
Across the room Jay said something loud and everyone laughed and the moment breathed. Riki’s hand moved from your ankle to your calf. Warm. Present. “Stay tonight,” he said. Low enough that it was only for you. “Not at the shop. Mine.”
His. His flat, which you hadn’t been to, which was a different thing than the back room couch. A different kind of staying. “Yeah,” you said.
He nodded. Looked back at the room. But his hand stayed on your leg and his shoulder was warm against yours and you sat in the important and let it settle into something that felt permanent.
Later, when most people had gone and Ria was helping Heeseung with something in the kitchen and it was just you and Riki by the door putting your jacket on he turned you by the shoulders. Kissed you slowly, his hands on your face, thumbs at your jaw. The kind of kiss that had no agenda, no direction, just wanted to exist. When he pulled back he looked at you for a long moment.
The word boyfriend was right there in the room. Neither of you said it. But his hand found yours and held it, and he didn’t let go the whole way to his flat, and somewhere in the space between mine and important and his fingers between yours on a dark street — the unnamed thing finally had a shape. You just hadn’t said it out loud yet.
His flat was on the third floor of a building that had seen better decades, the kind of place that was held together by good bones and someone who actually cared about the space inside it. You didn’t know what you’d expected.
More of the shop, maybe — dark walls, flash art, the deliberate aesthetic. And there was some of that. Dark furniture, a few framed pieces on the walls, one large canvas above the couch that was either very expensive or done by someone he knew and you suspected the latter. But it was also — lived in, in a specific way. Books stacked in an order that made sense only to him. A record player in the corner with a small collection beside it. The kitchen clean in the way of someone who cooked properly and cleaned as they went.
It was a home. Actually a home. That surprised you and you didn’t know why it surprised you and then you thought about what he’d said — I spent a long time in situations where things got taken — and understood it. He’d built this. Deliberately. Piece by piece. “Stop analyzing it,” he said from the kitchen.
“I’m not analyzing it.”
“You have your analyzing face on.”
“I don’t have an analyzing face.”
He appeared in the kitchen doorway with two glasses of water and looked at you standing in his living room in your jacket still on and raised an eyebrow. “Take your jacket off,” he said. “You’re staying.” You took your jacket off.
You fell asleep on his couch. Not intentionally — you’d been talking, the record player on low, and somewhere between one subject and the next the warmth of him beside you and the late hour pulled you under. You were aware of it happening distantly, the conversation getting slower, your eyes getting heavy, and you didn’t fight it.
You woke up in his bed. He’d moved you. At some point while you slept he’d carried you — or walked you, half-conscious — to the bed and put you in it and the duvet was pulled up and his pillow smelled like him and you lay there in the early grey morning and stared at the ceiling and felt something enormous and inconvenient sitting on your chest.
You heard him in the kitchen. The quiet sounds of someone who knew how to exist in the morning without disturbing anyone. You lay there and thought about mine and important and the collarbone tattoo and his hand in yours on the dark street and the back room couch and two months of Wednesdays and the card he’d slid across the counter the first night like he’d already decided.
You thought about Ria’s voice. You’re terrified. You were terrified.
He was at the kitchen counter with his back to you when you came in. Making coffee, unhurried, still in the clothes from last night minus the jacket. Rings on his hands already. You didn’t know if he’d slept. He turned when he heard you. Took in your expression with one look. “Hey,” he said carefully.
“Hey.” You stood in the kitchen doorway. Your heart was doing something loud. “You moved me.”
“You were asleep on my couch.”
“You could have woken me up.”
“You looked tired.” Simple. Like it was nothing. Like carrying you to his bed was just a practical thing he’d done without thinking. “Coffee?”
“Riki.” He looked at you. Really looked — reading whatever was on your face with that careful focus, taking it in.
“What’s going on,” he said.
“Nothing. I just—” You stopped. Started again. “I woke up in your bed and it—” You pressed your fingers to your mouth briefly. “It felt like something.” He was quiet. Waiting.
“I think this is something,” you said. “I think it’s been something for a while and we keep not saying it and I’m—” You exhaled. “I’m tired of not saying it.”
The kitchen was very quiet. Riki leaned back against the counter. Crossed his arms. His expression was the open one — no performance, no control layered over it, just his face and whatever was behind it. “Say it then,” he said quietly.
You looked at him. “I want this to be a thing. A real thing. I want—” You. “I want the name.”
He uncrossed his arms. Crossed the kitchen in three steps and he was right in front of you and his hands came up to your face — both of them, palms at your jaw, tilting your face up — and he looked at you for one long second. “It’s already a thing,” he said. “It’s been a thing.” His thumb moved at your cheekbone. “I’ve been waiting for you to catch up.”
“That’s very smug,” you said. Your voice wasn’t fully steady.
“I know.” He wasn’t smiling. His eyes were serious, dark, right there. “Y/N.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not good at the words,” he said. “You know that. But this—” his thumbs traced your face, gentle and deliberate “—this is not nothing. This hasn’t been nothing since you walked into my shop.”
Your hands found his wrists. Held on. “Okay,” you said.
“Okay,” he said. He kissed you. Soft, slow, his hands still on your face like he wanted to hold the moment still. You kissed him back and felt the unnamed thing finally, finally settle into something with a shape and a weight and a name you’d figure out the exact word for later.
When he pulled back he pressed his forehead to yours. “Boyfriend is a weird word,” he said.
You laughed. Surprised out of you, real. “It really is.”
“But yeah.” His mouth curved. “That.”
“That,” you agreed. He kissed you again, brief and warm, and then stepped back and handed you a coffee and the domesticity of it — his flat, his coffee, his hands, the morning — hit you somewhere soft.
“Sit down,” he said. “I’ll make breakfast.”
“You cook?”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“Riki I’ve known you for months and I’ve never seen you eat anything that wasn’t takeout or coffee.”
“That’s at the shop.” He was already at the fridge. “At home I cook.”
You sat at his kitchen counter on a stool and watched him move around his kitchen with the same ease he brought to everything — competent, unhurried, knowing where things were — and drank your coffee and felt the warmth of the morning settle around you. “What are you making?” you said.
“Eggs.”
“Just eggs?”
“Good eggs.” He glanced back. “Don’t underestimate eggs.”
They were good eggs. You ate at his kitchen counter side by side, your shoulder against his, and the conversation came easy the way it always did — drifting, unhurried, one thing opening into another. He told you about the record player, how he’d found it at a market two years ago and had to carry it up three flights on his own. You told him about the flat you’d wanted that you hadn’t got and ended up in your current one instead and how it had turned out better. “Things usually do,” he said.
“Philosopher.”
“Just paying attention.” His hand found yours on the counter between you. Covered it. Not making anything of it — just there, warm and present. You turned your hand over and his fingers slid between yours. You sat like that until the coffee was cold.
He walked you out two hours later. Down the three flights and out onto the morning street, quiet at this hour, pale winter sun doing its best. He had his jacket on, hands in his pockets, walking beside you in the direction of the bus stop. “You don’t have to walk me,” you said.
“I know.” He walked you anyway. His shoulder bumping yours occasionally. Not holding your hand now — just beside you, present, taking up the right amount of space. At the bus stop he turned to face you. “Wednesday,” he said.
“Wednesday,” you said. Then: “Actually I might come Tuesday. I need to talk to Heeseung about extending the collarbone piece.”
Something moved across his face. Quick, then gone. “You want to extend it?” he said.
“Just the stems, maybe. One more.” You looked at his expression. “What?”
“I’ll do it,” he said. Immediate.
“I know you’ll do it—”
“I mean — the extension. Let me do it.” His jaw was doing the thing. “Not Heeseung.”
You looked at him. Understood. “Okay,” you said.
“Okay.” The jaw relaxed. A short exhale.
You reached up and kissed him — he leaned down to meet you before you’d fully extended, like he’d been waiting for it — and it was brief and warm and tasted like coffee. “Tuesday,” you said against his mouth.
“Tuesday,” he said. The bus appeared at the end of the road. He stepped back. Hands back in his pockets. Watching you with that settled, certain expression. “Text me when you’re home,” he said. New. That was new.
“Yeah,” you said, smiling. “Okay.”
You texted Ria from the bus.
you: we sorted it
The reply was immediate. She’d been awake, waiting.
Ria: WHAT
you: it’s a thing. officially.
Ria: I KNEW IT I HAVE BEEN SAYING does he even know the word boyfriend???
you: he said it’s a weird word
Ria: oh my god he’s so him
you: he made me eggs
Ria: Y/N!!!
you: they were really good eggs
Ria: I am going to cry. IM SO HAPPY!
You put your phone in your pocket and looked out the bus window at the city going past and felt something settled and warm sitting in your chest where the unnamed thing used to be.
Daniel saw you get off the bus. You didn’t notice him. You were texting Riki — something small, a photo of a dog outside the coffee shop you were passing, the kind of thing you sent now because you could — and you walked past him without looking up.
He watched you go. Watched the way you were smiling at your phone. He knew about the tattoo shop. He’d heard you mention it. He’d put things together — the visits, the name that came up, the way you’d brushed him off every time since October.
He pulled out his own phone. Started looking. It didn’t take long. Public record. The charge, the conviction, the sentence. He read it twice. Read the name again. Looked up Studio 13. He sat with it for a long time. Then he texted Soo.
Daniel: hey, you’re friends with Y/N right. I need to tell you something about someone she’s seeing.
The thing about finally naming something was that it changed the texture of everything. Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just — small shifts, accumulating. The way he texted now, more often, nothing significant but there. The way he said my girlfriend to a client who asked about the collarbone piece, casual, not looking at you when he said it, and you’d had to look very hard at the flash wall for a moment. The way his hand found yours in public without him thinking about it first. Small things. Heavy things.
You were catastrophically gone for him and had been for a while and now there was nothing to hide it behind.
The first Tuesday after you came into Studio 13 at noon and Riki was with a client so Jay made you coffee and sat across from you at the counter with the expression of someone who had been waiting to say something. “So,” he said.
“Don’t,” you said.
“I just want to say—”
“Jay.”
“I called it.” He held up both hands. “First week you came in. I said to Sunghoon, I said that girl is going to wreck him, and I was right—”
“I didn’t wreck anyone—”
“In a good way.” He was grinning. “He’s different. He’s — I’ve known Riki for two years and he texted me last Sunday morning just to talk. Riki. Texting. On a Sunday. Because he was in a good mood and wanted to—”
“Jay.” Riki’s voice from the piercing section, flat. He’d finished with his client without you noticing.
“I’m just saying—”
“I heard what you were saying.” Riki came around the partition and looked at you and the expression on his face when it landed on you was the thing Jay had been describing without being able to name it — something unlocked, something that had been held tight for a long time and wasn’t anymore.
He came to the counter. Leaned down and kissed you hello like it was something he’d been doing for years. Brief, warm, his hand on your jaw for just a second. Jay made a noise. Riki sat on his stool without acknowledging him. Picked up his coffee. “How’s the collarbone?” he said.
“Good. I want to talk about an extension.”
“I know what I’ll doing with it.”
“I haven’t told you what I want yet.”
“I know what you want.” He met your eyes. Completely certain. “Trust me.”
You looked at him. Thought about the first piece — how right it had been, how it had looked like it had always been there. “Fine,” you said.
Jay, very quietly, said: “He’s so different.”
The extension happened the following Thursday. One more stem. Slightly longer than the others, curving toward your shoulder, a small bud at the end that he’d added without asking and that was so exactly right you hadn’t been able to speak for a moment when you saw it. “Riki,” you said.
“Hm.” He was examining the placement, focused.
“The bud.”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t ask for that.”
“No.” He glanced up. Brief, the focus breaking for just a second. “Do you like it?”
You looked in the mirror. The three stems, the new one curving outward, the small closed bud at its tip. Something that looked like potential. Like something about to open. “Yeah,” you said. “I like it.”
He looked back down. Said nothing. But his free hand, steadying your shoulder, pressed slightly. Small. Deliberate.
Three weeks in and the shape of things had settled. Wednesdays at the shop. Tuesday evenings at his flat, which had become a specific thing — you’d bring food, he’d already have the record player going, and you’d eat on his couch or his kitchen floor and talk until one of you fell asleep. Some Fridays at yours, which he’d come to twice now and moved through with the particular attentiveness of someone learning a space they planned to know well.
His things had started appearing at your flat. A hoodie, first — left behind, not retrieved. Then a phone charger. Then a record he’d brought over to show you something and hadn’t taken back. You didn’t point any of this out. Neither did he.
You had a key to Studio 13. That had happened without discussion — Riki had taken it off his keyring one night when you’d arrived before him and handed it to you and gone back to what he was doing. You’d stared at it for a full ten seconds.
This was how he said things. Not in words. In the key. In the bud on the stem. In text me when you’re home and Sunday morning texts and the way he always, always knew when something was wrong before you’d said anything. You were learning his language. It was quieter than most people’s but it was fluent.
Four weeks in, on a Wednesday night after Studio 13 closed as usual. But tonight the energy was different from the second you’d locked the front door behind you — something in the way he’d looked at you across the shop all evening, something that had been building since you’d arrived and had nowhere to go while there were other people present.
He kissed you against the front counter the second the lock clicked. Not soft. Not the hello-kiss or the goodbye-kiss or the slow deliberate thing from his kitchen. This was four weeks of officially named wanting, his hands in your hair and your hands in his jacket and both of you breathing differently inside ten seconds. He pulled back. Looked at your face. “Hi,” you said.
“Hi.” His voice was rough already. His hands moved from your hair to your waist, sliding under your top to bare skin, and you felt his rings and exhaled. “Been thinking about you all day.”
“I was here all evening.”
“I know.” His mouth found your jaw, your throat. “Worse.”
“Riki—”
“I know.” He pulled your top up and off and looked at you in the low red light the way he always did — that slow, deliberate sweep that moved over you like you were something he was committing to memory. The collarbone piece. His hands on you. “God,” he said quietly. Not performing it. Just — reacting.
“Come here,” you said. He came. He got you onto the front counter. Which was new. Which was — you looked around the shop, the dark windows, the closed door, and then his hands were on your thighs spreading them and he was standing between them and the location became very irrelevant. “Here?” you said.
“Here.” He kissed you again, deep, his tongue against yours and the bar of it doing what it always did to your ability to think. His hands pushed your skirt up your thighs, found your underwear, pushed it aside — and his fingers were there, at your folds, and you grabbed the edge of the counter.
“Riki—”
“Already.” His fingers moved through your folds, slow, feeling you. “Fuck, Y/N, already—”
“Don’t be smug—”
“I’m not.” He pressed a kiss to your jaw, your throat. “I’m really not.” His fingers found your clit and circled and your hips rolled forward. “That’s it. That’s—” A breath. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Tell me,” you breathed.
He pushed two fingers inside you and your head fell back. “This,” he said, low, watching your face. “Every time. Every fucking time you walk in here I want—” His fingers curled and you gasped. “Yeah. That. I want that sound.”
“More—”
“More?” He kept the pace slow. Deliberate. His thumb finding your clit while his fingers moved and the combination was devastating. “You sure? We’re not in a rush.”
“Riki I swear to god—”
He laughed — low, warm, real — and his fingers moved deeper and his thumb pressed harder and you grabbed his shoulder and held on. “Good girl,” he said against your throat. “So good. So wet for me, every time, like you spend all day—”
“I do,” you said, breathless. “I do, okay, is that what you want to hear—”
“Yes,” he said simply, and meant it, and his fingers moved faster. You came with your face pressed into his neck and his name in your mouth, his fingers working you through it, not stopping until you pulled at his hair and told him too much, too much—
He pulled his hand back. Pressed his mouth to your temple. Your cheekbone. The corner of your mouth. “Good girl,” he said again, softer. “You’re so—”
“Don’t you dare say something nice right now,” you said. “I can’t handle it.” He pressed his smile into your hair.
You got his jeans open. Got your hand on his cock and felt him exhale sharply against your neck —that involuntary thing, the crack in the control — and stroked slowly and felt every bar of the ladder and heard him make a sound that was almost pained. “Y/N—”
“Yeah?”
“I need—” His hips pushed forward slightly. “Fuck, I need you to—”
“Need me to what.” You kept the pace slow. His own medicine.
His forehead dropped to your shoulder. “Please.” The please from Riki — rare, wrecked, genuine — landed somewhere it always landed and you let go of him and pulled him forward by his waistband and he understood, got his jeans down, stepped between your thighs.
He pushed inside in one slow stroke and you both went still. His hands braced on the counter either side of you. Your hands on his chest. The shop around you, the red light, the flash art on the walls watching everything. “Okay?” he said. Rough. Always asked.
“Move,” you said. “Please, Riki, move—” He moved.
The front counter was cold under your hands and he was warm everywhere else — his chest against yours, his mouth at your throat, his hips rolling into you in a rhythm that started slow and deliberate and got less controlled as it went. “You feel—” He broke off. His jaw set. “Every time. Like the first time, every—”
“Don’t stop talking,” you said. “I like it when you talk.”
He made a rough sound. “You like it.”
“Yes—”
“Good girl for telling me.” His pace shifted deeper and you choked on a breath. “Good girl for always — fuck — for always telling me what you want—”
“Riki—”
“I’ve got you.” His hand slid between you, found your clit, and you arched. “I’ve got you, come on, cum for me, you can—”
“I just—”
“I know.” His thumb circled. “Do it again. Come on. Let me feel you cum on my cock, Y/N—”
The degradation and the praise all tangled together and his thumb and the ladder on every stroke and his voice at your ear and you shattered again — harder this time, your whole body locking up, his name loud enough that it bounced off the dark walls—
He followed you. His rhythm breaking, his breath gone, his hands gripping the counter so hard you heard his rings knock against it — and the sound he made when he came was the broken one, the helpless one, the one you collected and kept.
After the both of you on the front counter, you sitting, him leaning against it beside you. Still not fully dressed. The playlist had long since ended and the shop was quiet except for both of you getting your breathing back. You looked at the flash art on the walls. “We just did that on the front counter,” you said.
“We did.”
“Where clients sit.”
“I’ll clean it.”
You looked at him. He looked back with the wrecked-and-unbothered expression, his hair completely destroyed, his rings catching the low light. “You’re not even slightly embarrassed,” you said.
“No.” Simple. His hand found your knee. “Are you?”
You thought about it. “No.” He smiled. The real one.
You leaned your head on his shoulder and he turned his face into your hair and you sat on the front counter of Studio 13 at midnight and the warmth of it — the us of it — felt like something you could live inside. “Stay,” he said. Into your hair.
“At yours?”
“Here. Couch in the back.” His hand moved at your knee. “Don’t want you to go yet.”
You lifted your head. Looked at his face. “Riki. I’m not going anywhere,” you said.
His eyes moved over yours. The thing behind them — the possessive, careful, quietly terrified thing that drove the jealousy and the silence and the hand always finding yours — settled. “I know,” he said. Like he was practicing believing it.
“I know you know.” You put your hand on his jaw. “I’m telling you anyway.” He turned his face into your palm. Brief. Eyes closing for just a second.
Then he stood up, pulled you off the counter, kept your hand in his. “Couch,” he said.
“Couch,” you agreed.
You were asleep within minutes with Riki’s jacket over you and his voice low in the background talking to someone on the phone — his brother, you thought, distantly, the conversation too quiet to hear properly — and the red light under the door and the smell of ink and his hoodie under your cheek.
You were asleep and warm and his and the storm was three weeks away. It felt like nothing could touch this.
Daniel texted your friend Soo on a Wednesday night. She didn’t tell you immediately. That was the first thing — she sat on it for four days, turning it over, looking at the record he’d sent her, reading it and rereading it. The charge. The conviction. The length of the sentence. Assault. Grievous bodily harm. Victim: female.
She read those words and thought about you and made a decision she believed was the right one. She texted you on a Sunday.
You were at Riki’s flat. Sunday morning, late, the good kind of late — his record player going, both of you in the kitchen, you on the counter watching him make coffee with the focused competence he brought to everything. His hair was wrecked. He had a bruise on his collarbone that was your fault and he’d looked at it in the mirror that morning with an expression of complete satisfaction that had made you throw a pillow at him. Your phone lit up on the counter beside you.
Soo: hey can we talk today. it’s important.
Soo: it’s about Riki.
You looked at the screen. “What,” Riki said. He’d clocked your face without turning around. He did that.
“Soo wants to talk.” You kept your voice neutral. “About you.”
He turned. Read your expression. His jaw did the thing — the subtle set — but his voice stayed even. “What about me?”
“She didn’t say.”
A pause. He looked at the coffee. Back at you. “When?”
“Today apparently.” He nodded. Said nothing. Turned back to the coffee and you watched his shoulders and thought about the tension in them and didn’t ask.
You met Soo at the coffee place near yours at two. She was already there when you arrived. She had her hands around her cup and her expression was the one she got when she was about to say something she’d rehearsed — careful, prepared, slightly guilty around the edges. You sat down. “Just tell me,” you said.
She put her phone on the table. Turned it to face you. A screenshot. A public record database. The name — Nishimura Riki — and below it the details, dry and legal and devastating in their simplicity. Charge: Assault occasioning grievous bodily harm. Victim: Female, 28. Sentence: 14 months. Probation: 12 months.
life with your sweet angel of a boyfriend, absolute purrfection.
ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: pumabf!riki x reader
smut, established relationship, domestic fluff, protective!ki, jealousy, cuddling, lots of kissing, oral (f.+ m. receiving), he purrs, sub!reader, bratty!reader, biting (he does it with love), little bit of blood mentioned, morning sex, swearing, teasing, not proofread lolz (3.9k words)
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ promises he doesn't mean to but is insanely protective.
an arm around your should or waist, eyes ghosting around any room you step it looking for a threat. you would think you're entering a cage of fighting lions, but no — you're just entering a supermarket. the poor other costumers were treated like missiles about to explode by him. "ki, red or green?" no response. "ki?" "hm?" he mutters, eyes still roaming around. your hands find his face, snapping him out of his haze. the moment your eyes meet he softens, sharp eyes turning big, brows relaxing. "do you want red or green grapes?" you ask again. "oh, green please." he smiles softly, eyes crinkling. but as soon as you turn to grab the grapes he snaps back to scan the room for any potential threat.
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ full on gnarls when you're being bratty heheheh
he tries to be as nice to you as he can while he's balls deep inside you. poor boy gets so lost inpleasure and turns absolutely wild. he wants his hands all over you at the same time, like his hands are never in the same position for more than ten seconds. the first time you slept together he was trembling with how much he had to hold himself back, pretty boy blanked out at the feeling of your pussy around him :(( but with time you wanted to see what he's hiding, there was a little bite or choke every now and then but you want this man WILD. "can't even fuck me properly, huh?" "come on, is this all you've got?" you are an absolute manace and after the initial shock riki experienced hearing those words coming from you, his heavy breaths and choked moans were replaced by grunts as he slammed his hips against you with one smooth motion. satisfied with the sqeaky moan it got out of you, he thought this was the end – a mere little slipup on your part. but no, this only fuelled you. "what," you giggled between small gasps, "too shy to put me through the matress?" oh this was your end. within the blink of an eye he had you flipped on your stomach, legs rough nudged apart before he buries himself inside of you again. you know that he's big, i mean look at the height of him his dick was bound to be more than average, but he has never been this deep in you. for a moment you believe you've lost hearing and your brain switched off. as if you weren't in heaven enough already, the feeling of him carelessly lying on top of you, cock drilling in and out of your puffy pussy, had you speechless. "oh now you wanna shut up, hm?" he gnarls into your ear, yanking your hair back. you mouth falls open, but no words come out of it; only whines and throaty moans. "wanna act like a fucking brat but cave at the feeling of me destroying your cunt huh?" messy kisses were placed on your exposed neck, sharp fangs grazing that one sensitive spot that has you pussy flutter. pathetic whines answer him and he chuckles, " 's what i thought baby, now come on and take it."
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ is practically glued to you at all times.
yes, outside he's protective, rough boyfriend but once you're home? oh that boy turns to puddle around you. he's still stuck on you, but he basically clings to you like a koala. "babyyyy, can you pleaaaaase just come to the couch with me?" he whines as you fold your clothes. "ki, i told you that as soon as i'm down with this i'll be all yours." "but," he sighs, "it always takes you so long to do itttt." you'd think he hasn't seen you in days, meanwhile the only time you were separated today was when either of you went to the toilet; and even then he was outside the door yapping your ear off. your person space is his person space and he refuses to change that for a single moment of the day.
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ is such a cuddle bug.
the minute you lie down, he's on you. i mean full on covering every part of you, face nuzzling into your neck as his arms circle your waist. a content sigh escapes him, this is his absolute favourite thing. your smell hits his nose instantly and he can't help but try and get closer to (it's literally impossible at this point). if possible, he would crawl into your skin to discover parts of you he has yet to see. "ki that giggles." you giggle, lovingly smacking his shoulder. "mmmm, you smell so good baby." his voice barely noticeable as how closely his lips are pressed against your skin. "you've smelled me a million times before silly boy. how can you not get bored?" in the blink of an eye he sat up. he looked purely distraught. "how can you say that?" he questioned, dead serious. "if i ever happen to lose you i need to be able to find you again! your smell is key here." you stare at him, utterly baffled. a moment of silence passes, both of you just staring at each other. "i mean," you start, "you have my location at all times and you're pretty much always with me." he scoffs, "well obviously, but there's still a small chance of you getting lost or taken from me." your heart swells at his confession. "awwww, come here baby." you open your arms wide and he happily plops back down on you again. content hums leave him again, accompanied by a deep sigh. softly, your fingers start threading through his hair, earning such lovely sounding purrs from him, vibrating against your chest. "i love you so much," he mumbles sleepily, the affect hair playing as him is insane. "i love you, ki." you whisper back as he drifts off to sleep. aren't you the luckiest to have this clingy cuddly giant.
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ get jealous easily :((
he would never accuse you of straying away and being not loyal. ever. if someone's eyes linger on you more than three seconds he's ready to pounce. as we've established he always has a hand on you somewhere, so obviously you're off the market! he uses his height as an advantage, no matter how tall you are, he most likely will be taller that you. looking like you shack he sends daggers across the room, eyes narrowing with anger. however, as soon as you notice and spin around, putting a hand on his cheek he turns to mush. "what's gotten you so worked up baby?" you mutter, small smile on your face. "just this guy looking at you. it's insulting to both you and me." he murmurs, but you can tell by his voice that all his attention is on you now, guy long forgotten at your display of attention. you turn, "who is it?" "red shirt." you scoff, "slimey looking thing." at that he chuckles, lips pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head. "i love you, angel." you reach down, intertwining your fingers with his, "don't worry ki," you smile up at him "i'll forever and always be yours."
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ leaves innocent kisses anywhere but your lips when you're out and it's the sweetest thing.
considering how much he loves on you, you had some ground rules established. his jealous and protective nature has him on you at all times, not just his hands roaming but also his lips. if provoked, he started a full on make out in the middle of the street. anything to put those hitting or even look at you too long in their place. here comes in one the rules: no public makeouts! a little kiss, a quick peck is fine, it's welcomed. but no full on making out, no tongues intertwining. but of course the little menace finds a way to go around this rule. it started on your hand, just a kick peck to the back of your intertwined hands. next it was you cheek, then your forehead, the top of your head, your temple. if he's feeling extra cheeky he starts kissing the corner of your mouth relentlessly. he's so fucking smug about it too! "whaaaaat, i haven't done anything against the rules!" he's so fucking cute :(( he just wants to love you at all times.
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ has a very sensitive nose and tends to bury it inside your neck when he gets overwhelmed
as we've established, riki adores your smell. nothing brings him nearly as much comfort as the smell of your skin. he specifically asks you not to put on any perfume or scented lotions. life gets busy and at some point everyone gets overwhelmed with it all. busy schedules, little sleep, it's all been catching up him and on a random day after running errands with you he finally gets to lay on the couch with you. yet his mind is not any busy, thoughts circling on his mind in a never-ending loop. you were focused on the show playing in the back when he suddenly nuzzles his head into your neck. at first you thought he was simply being cuddly, but he was more stiff than usual. he didn't melt into you as he usually does. "what's up, pretty boy?" you mumble as you stroke his hair. he only manages a weak hum in response. "riki are you okay?" his heart clenches at the sound of your voice. filled with so much worry, he instantly feels guilty. "no it's alright," he mutters as he sits back up again. "no, no, something's up. talk to me." taking a deep breath in as he struggles to meet your eyes. "ki," you say softly, hand reaching over to softly stroke his arm. "you can always talk to me. about anything." oh he's so in love with you, he just wants to kiss you senseless. "i know," he breathes. "i just...i don't know. life is just a lot and i cannot seem to switch my brain off." you coo, "come here my big baby." within seconds he's snuggled up against you, face in your neck again. "you smell like home." just like that; he dropped a sentence like that out of the blue. at a loss for words you can only pepper kisses all over his cheeks and forehead, clutching him extra tight.
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ purrs into your pussy while he's eating you out <33
while we're on the topic of smells, this boy goes CRAZY for the smell of your pussy. first time he went down on you he came all over the sheets by just smelling you it's that serious. my boy definitely has an oral fixation, he could spend hours between your legs — and he does. from slow licks, to sloppily making out with your cunt he absolutely worships you. every time he finds himself face to face with your pussy he tries to find new ways to make you lose your mind. he's an absolute MASTER at the tongue and finger combo, scissoring his fingers inside your gummy walls as he sucks and nips at your clit. this genuinely is his favourite thing to pass the time, so it is not wonder that he eventually starts contently purring. the first time it happened you were so surprised at the extra stimulation you came instantly and boy was he proud. the low vibrations add a delicious sensation on top of his already skilled hands and tongue. he sometimes starts and stops, loving the desperate whines that leave your pretty lips, begin him to continue purring. riki gets cocky with it, but every time he goes down on you he gets to the point of his eyes firmly squeezed shut, unconsciously purring at the feeling and smell of you that consume all his senses <333
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ leaves bites all over you while being inside of you to muffle his moans (he's still a little embarrassed <33)
big dick rik is a recurring guest on my blog, mans knows exactly what to do to get all obsessed and cock drunk I DONT MAKE THE RULES (i do but whatever). puma!ki however adds the beautiful dimension of biting <33 it started with a little nip here and there to get a reaction out of you, but the freakier the two of you got over time, the more he gets lots in pleasure and can't hold himself back. he knows you'd never judge him, in fact you encourage it, but he does feel a little embarrassed being a moaning mess when your pussy feels too good :(( so nipping turns into his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he has you on all fours, desperately trying to quieten his moans. the warm feeling of your insides has him believing he's in heaven, hips rutting into all messily...and when you moan at the feeling of his canines sinking into you?? yea the moans only get cranked up even more. the first time he drew blood he was so shocked by himself, staring at you all wide eyed :c but when you simply flip your hair over the little wound, exposing the other side of your neck and pushing his head down to meet your soft skin he's back in business.
but it doesn't even have to be the two of you hardcore going at it, it can be lovingly spooning on an early morning and he's just all sleepy still, eyes closed, relishing the feeling of being inside you first thing in the morning. the world still asleep, he buries his head in the crook of your neck (can you tell this boy has a favourite body part on you?), biting down near the pulsing vein. your little gasps and whines music to his ears, he bites down a little harder, hoping that when you leave the house later everyone can still see :(
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ is a very whiny boy when you go down on him :,)
do not let the propaganda fool you, this boy is so fucking vocal!!! while he does take quite a lot of the initiative when you go down on him, he lets out the prettiest sound a man has ever made. he's very big on praise, you're his precious girl and he's so thankful that you choose to pleasure him :(( "so fucking pretty huh, fuck look at you," he moans as you lick up and down his length, eyes always on him. he gets so lost in the pleasure that he has to rapidly blink, not wanting to miss a single little thing you do. if you decide to be a little tease (which you usually are) and kitty lick only his tip, refusing to touch the rest of him he falls i love with you even more. while he does have his hands entangled in your hair, he'd never force himself deeper inside of you. you do things at your own pace and he's happy to be there! so when you suddenly stop the small licks and fully take him down your throat in one motion he can't help but gasp, throaty moan following. "filthy fucking thing aren't you? jesus you're perfect." riki looks majestic like this, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut and chest heaving. if you moan around him it's most definitely over for him. what his purring is doing to you, your moans do it to him. that's when the whines most definitely come out and you of course love taking advantage of it. it's obscene, you bobbing your head up and down his cock, a mix of spit and precum dripping out of your mouth all over his thighs as you moan nonstop. his legs twitch at the sensation of your mouth, abs flexing every time you have his entire length down your throat. and when he gets close? best believe it's the whine olympics. the grasp on your hair tightens, sending small tingles through your scalp and down your spine. " 'm so close angel, fuck please don't stop oh my god." and with that he releases the prettiest whiny moan as he empties out his load into your mouth.
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ does the cutest little head tilt at random times, blinking at you (no thoughts behind those eyes)
pretty boy spaces out every now and then, no thoughts head empty. so when you come into the room, yapping the day away he needs a second to snap out of it and when you look at him expectantly he just goes "huh?". he's so fucking cute, head cocked to the side, brows slightly furrowed in confusion. "did you hear a single thing i just said?". a snail could shake its head quicker than he did, softly blinking at you. how could yoh stay mad at him when he's looking at you like this??? "aww," you coo. "pretty boy was lost in thought weren't you." his nose crunches in fake disapproval, but deep down both of you know he loves being babied.
or sometimes he gives you the most RANDOM look of disapproval it's truly hilarious, he cannot keep a straight face at times it's so fucking endearing. "what did i do?" you ask baffled, hands thrown up in defence. the menace he can be at times he just shoots you another side eye before pulling you closer. but don't think you'll get an answer, his mind works in mysterious ways....
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ can only purr when he gets too sleepy :((
the thought of this genuinely has me tweaking out. you know when you get too tired and words turn into hums? this is him, but with purring. his head is on your chest, arms loosely around your ways, legs tangled with yours. you were just telling him about your day, nothing out of the ordinary and you knew he was tired, but this sweetheart insists on hearing all about your day. "– so i was just standing there, can you believe it?...ki?" soft vibrations make your upper body tingle. "you wanna go sleep, sweet boy?" you whisper softly but he gives you a more firm, disapproving purr. "alright alright, i'll continue." another, more soft and content purr from him. as always, your hands brush through his hair, earning a constant wave of purrs, which you notice to become more and more slower by the minute. you stop your sentence mid way, continuing to play with his blonde strands of hair. ever so softly, he gives your waist a squeeze, just to let you know a tiny part of him is still awake, an attempt to show you he's listening (or at least trying to). "i'll tell you the rest over breakfast tomorrow." you murmur, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. "i love you, ki." he might be too tired for words, but that doesn't stop him from purring the sound waves of an i love you back :c
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ is a teasing little shit and loves to bite down on your lips.
doesn't even have to be when you're kissing NO mfer just chomps down on your lips when he feels like it! it's another thing he does when he's feeling jealous over protective. you could be out in public, just chilling at a cafe when he moves over and bites down on your bottom lip. no explanation, nothing, just a smug smile on his face as he leans back again. "what was that for you?" you look at him, puzzled. "barista drew a heart on your cup and has been looking over here." he replies with a shrug. "riki she was probably just being nice. and she could be looking at you and not me." he firmly shakes his head. "nope, she was looking at you at all times, plus there's no heart on my cup see?" he counters, shoving his cup in your face. you can't help but smile at his theatrics, leaning over the desk to give him a quick peck on the lips, one that he tries to chase with a little whine. "nu-uh," you warn. "none of that in public mister." one would think he was just denied entry to heaven with the way he started sulking.
if you ever decide to do it back, it turns into a little competition. you've heard of tickle fights, now get ready for biting fights. you would be hiding behind a corner, jumping out when he passes but you just to bite down on his plush lips. this would obviously lead into a chase through your entire flat, with him catching you 99% of the time and throwing you down on the couch. his lips are all over you then, kissing, nipping and occasionally biting down. riki loves the way you giggle and squirm at the impact, big hands trying to hold you down but never too tightly, this is far too much fun.
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ randomly starts purring songs (yes purring not humming)
it had been a peaceful afternoon, just the two of you lounging around, soft kisses exchanged while lying intertwined on the couch. you were making dinner, dancing around the stove to the record playing in the back. riki hovered around you, giving you the occasional spin to see the pretty smile form in your face. stirring the pot, he stood behind you, hands obviously around your waist, chin on your head, swaying you from side to side to the music. you softly started humming along to the song when you were joined by some deeper melodies, the vibration of his purring tickling the top of your head. "what's got you all giggly?" he questions, oblivious to what he had just been doing. "your purrs were tickling me." "huh?" poor boy had no idea he started doing it, blushing slightly at his unconscious trait. another giggle escapes you, "don't worry, i don't mind it. it's like we're singing a duet in our own way!" the pure beam that was your smile made him believe his heart just stopped for a second and he could only squeeze you tighter, propping his chin back on top of your head.
ᴘᴜᴍᴀʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ is a big fan of the "just five more minutes" phrase because he knows you can't resist him.
it's not news that riki is very much into physical contact, this boy is the definition of velcro. separating from you in the morning is pure heartbreak for him, he's counting down the minutes until he can see you again :( so when your alarm rings in the morning, he's all grumpy whines, refusing to ease the iron grip he has on you. "ki, i have to get ready." you mumble, voice still heavy with sleep. "noooo." he mumbles back, rolling over so that he's on top of you. " 'm not letting you go, you're all mine." it's endearing, this huge man being all clingy. "of course i am," you answer. "but i still have to get ready for work baby." protesting purrs vibrate against your collarbones as he softly nips the skin. "ten more minutes." "five." "deal." his body instantly relaxes, acting like a weighted blanket. "we always do this in the mornings, why are do you argue with me?" he murmurs into your chest and you sigh. "i have no clue if i'm being honest." at that he chuckles, "you love me soooooo bad don't you?" without missing a beat you reply, "always." you could risk being late for work a few minutes, saying no to him was just not in the cards :,)
ʟɪɴ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇ: this has been collecting dust in my drafts for ages........it's lowkey ass and i'm repeating myself but 😞😞
ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @saeivra @shawnyle @kookiesnkim @itsnotawrongnumber @shaiimuraaa @yelihusband @chaebbys @feedrinplz @twerkispeak @noirellee @wonscapes @tamedhoon (comment or send me an ask if you want to be tagged or removed <33)
