gentleman in the streets , freak in the sheets
synopsis : Riki always tried his hardest to keep up the perfect boyfriend image in front of your parents and it worked. They were completely charmed by him and the respect he has for you. But behind closed doors? He was the complete opposite. All facades dropped.
ⳇ pairing ╸ dom!bf!ni-ki x fem!reader
warning : MDNI; smut, explicit sexual content, rough sex, unprotected sex, fingerfucking, deepthroating, edging, overstimulation, power exchange, profanity, and strong language.
To your parents, Riki was a saint. He was the polite, well-spoken, and attentive boyfriend who always opened the car door for you, brought flowers for your mother, and spoke with a respectful tone that had them convinced you’d found the most refined gentleman of the century. He wore pressed shirts, kept his posture perfect, and treated you with a tenderness in public that felt almost cinematic.
But as the front door of your family home clicked shut and the lock turned, the mask didn't just slip—it shattered.
The second you were alone in the hallway, Riki didn’t even give you time to take off your coat. He slammed you against the wall with a force that knocked the breath out of you, his hand gripping your waist so tightly it would leave marks. The polite, soft-spoken boy was gone; in his place was a predator who had been starving for hours of playing "perfect."
"God, I thought they’d never stop talking," he growled, his voice dropping an octave, turning into a rough, gravelly rasp. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent with a desperation that bordered on aggression. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to sit there and act like I didn't want to rip those clothes off you in front of your father?"
"Riki—" you gasped, your heart hammering against your ribs.
"Shut up," he commanded, his lips grazing your ear. "No more talking. Just be a good girl for me."
He didn't wait for an answer. His mouth crashed onto yours in a kiss that was less of a greeting and more of a claim. It was rough, hungry, and demanding, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with an intensity that left you dizzy. He tasted of mint and raw desire, his hands roaming your body with a possessive urgency.
He shifted his weight, hoisting your leg up around his waist, pinning you further against the wall. His hand slid down, bunching up your skirt and diving underneath your lace underwear. When his fingers found you, already damp and aching for him, he let out a low, guttural moan of satisfaction.
"Look at you," he whispered against your lips, his voice dripping with a dark sort of pride. "So worked up. Were you thinking about this the whole dinner? Thinking about how much you wanted your boyfriend to stop being a gentleman?"
He drove two fingers deep inside you without warning, causing you to cry out and arch your back. He didn't slow down; he worked you with a relentless, rhythmic precision, his thumb grinding against your clit with a pressure that pushed you dangerously close to the edge.
"Please... Riki, please," you whimpered, your fingers clutching at his shoulders, digging into the fabric of the shirt your parents loved so much.
"Please what, baby? Tell me exactly what you want," he teased, his pace increasing, edging you with a cruelty that was purely for his own pleasure. He could feel your walls pulsing around his fingers, your body trembling on the verge of a peak. Just as you were about to shatter, he abruptly pulled his fingers out.
The sudden void left you sobbing, your hips twitching in a desperate search for the friction.
"Not yet," he murmured, his eyes dark and blown out. He stepped back just enough to unzip his trousers, his gaze locking onto yours. "I want you to take care of me first. I've been playing the part of the 'perfect man' for three hours. I'm exhausted, gorgeous. Fix it."
He didn't have to tell you twice. You dropped to your knees on the hallway floor, the cold tile a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from him. You looked up at him—the sharp jawline, the predatory smirk—and realized that while the world saw a gentleman, you were the only one who got to see the freak.
You wrapped your lips around him, taking him in deep, wanting to feel every inch of him. Riki let out a sharp hiss, his hands finding their way into your hair, guiding you with a firm, controlling grip. He wasn't gentle; he pushed himself deeper, forcing you to take him, testing your limits until you were gagging slightly.
"That's it... take it all," he groaned, his hips stuttering. "Good girl. Such a fucking good girl."
The praise sent a jolt of electricity through you, making you work even harder. He didn't let you go for long, however. The need to be inside you outweighed everything else. He hauled you up by your arms, dragging you toward the bedroom, not bothering to make it to the bed.
He stripped you bare in seconds, clothes discarded in a chaotic trail across the floor. He didn't use a condom—he never did when he was in this mood, wanting to feel every single vibration of your body against his. He flipped you over, pressing your chest against the dresser, and entered you from behind in one heavy, devastating thrust.
You screamed into the wood of the dresser, your fingers clawing at the surface. He was relentless, his movements rough and punishing, hitting your sweet spot with every singular drive. He gripped your hips, leaving bruising fingerprints on your pale skin, claiming you over and over again.
"You're mine," he grunted, his voice strained with effort, his breath hot against your back. "Every single inch of you. Not your parents', not the world's... just mine."
He pushed you further and further, overstimulating you until your vision blurred and your muscles locked. When he finally hit his limit, he groaned your name like a prayer and a curse, filling you completely as he collapsed against your back, his heart drumming a wild rhythm against your spine.
For a few minutes, there was only the sound of heavy breathing and the ticking of the clock. Then, Riki kissed the back of your shoulder, his voice returning to that soft, polite tone—though with a lingering edge of mischief.
"I think I'll bring dessert next Sunday," he whispered. "Your mother will love it."
ೃ⁀➷ a/n : hope you guys enjoyed this little Riki smut I wrote. I wrote this so that you guys had something while i worked on the space between texts. reqs are open for ideas for the space between texts.
