pjmxtra

[pjmxtra]

Like an angel - Lee Heeseung 𓈒ིུ ❤︎

‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

“In which Heeseung is obsessed with his sweet, innocent, shy sister’s best friend, and not in a healthy way.”

‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ❤︎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧ Content: +18MDNI

fem! reader x heeseung, age gap ( reader is 18+ heeseung is in his 20s), reader is hyper feminine, corruption kink, a bit of manipulation, reader is naive, dom! heeseung, masturbation (f and m), fingering, thigh grinding, dry humping, phone sex, dirty talking, virginity loss, unprotected sex, breeding kink, overstimulation, after care!!

word count: 13.8k

Warning: So this is my first “dark” themed fic, as I said it has corruption kink and heeseung is kind of a red flag in here, there is an age gap but both reader and heeseung are adults, and as always even if it is kind of a dark theme I must clarify that everything that happens is consensual. 

Hate comments will be deleted and blocked, likes and reblog are appreciated !! 

It was all harmless. 

At least, that’s what Heeseung told himself when he’d catch his eyes following you around the house. It was innocent at first, curiosity, maybe. You were always there, practically glued to his sister’s side, her new best friend that had just moved to town for your first year of college, fluttering around the kitchen like a little innocent lamb in soft skirts and cotton knee socks, humming Taylor Swift songs and talking about 90’s romcoms, whispering secrets and giggling into your hands like life was nothing but sweet, soft cotton candy.

You were a good girl. The kind of girl who asked before taking the last slice of pizza. The kind who apologized when she bumped into furniture. The kind of girl that went to church with her parents every Sunday. The kind of girl that always said “Please” and “Thank you”. The kind of girl that blushed every time she saw a shirtless man in some tv add. The kind who still said “freaking” instead of swearing.

He shouldn’t have wanted you.

You were his sister’s best friend. You were younger. Inexperienced, naive. Pretty in a way that was accidental. The kind of pretty that didn’t even know it was driving him crazy. With your perfect hair, your perfect posture and your perfect body. Too polished, too perfect, too easy to ruin.  And God, if there was one thing Heeseung had always been good at, it was self-control. He prided himself on it. But the thing about you was… you made it hard. Really fucking hard.

You were around too often. At first just after school, but then it turned into weekends. Study sessions, movie nights, sleepovers. You’d flit around his house in oversized sweaters and tiny shorts, and pink hair clips, leaving behind the soft scent of shampoo and vanilla lip gloss and something else that smelled like innocence and drove him crazy. 

Heeseung would find himself in the doorway, watching you from the shadows like a man possessed. The curve of your thighs when you sat crisscrossed on the rug. The slope of your neck when you tilted your head to listen. The way you bit the tip of your straw when you were focused on homework. The way you batted your eyelashes. The way your perfect smile appeared on your beautiful lips when someone said something silly. The way you bent over to pet his dog saying “Aren’t you the cutest thing in the world?” All of it so innocent. So unaware.

And he hated you for it.

Or maybe he hated himself, for wanting to be the one to take it all away.

He told himself it would pass. That the obsession was just a phase, something he could shake off with enough cold showers and pornography and distraction. But it got worse. So much worse. Because you had a way of saying things, softly, like they didn’t mean anything, that drove him absolutely fucking wild.

Like one afternoon in the living room.

The sunlight filtered through the curtains, falling on your hair like a halo. You were lounging on the couch beside his sister, legs tucked under your dress, fingers playing with the hem absentmindedly. The neckline was loose again, kept slipping off your shoulder like it wanted to tempt someone.

Heeseung leaned in the doorway, a drink in his hand and hell in his chest. Watching.

You were mid-conversation, talking in that dreamy, soft voice you always used when you were lost in thought, completely unaware of how dangerous your presence was.

“I just…” You hesitated, then let out a small, shy laugh. “I just don’t want it to be… rough, you know? Or rushed. I want someone who’s gonna take their time with me.”

His sister groaned. 

“You’re too romantic. That stuff never happens in real life.”

You shrugged a little, pouting. 

“But it should. Like… it’s kind of sacred, isn’t it? Giving yourself to someone? It should be with someone patient. Someone who wants to make it feel good. Not just… do it and leave.”

Heeseung’s fingers tightened so hard around the glass he was holding, he thought it might crack.

Your voice dropped a little, shy.

 “And I know it’s probably gonna hurt at first. I’ve never even touched myself before. But if they’re gentle… I think it could be really special.”

His sister rolled her eyes. 

“You sound like a nun.”

“I went to Catholic school!” you giggled.

And that was the worst part. You weren’t playing, you weren’t flirting. You were being honest.

You had no idea what your words were doing to him.

Heeseung swallowed thickly, his mind unraveling. Every syllable was like fuel on fire. If they’re gentle… if they take their time… if it doesn’t hurt.

He would be so good to you.

Not because he was good. But because you deserved softness even in your undoing.

He’d make you cry, but from pleasure. From overstimulation. From the way it would feel to finally be touched. He stared at you, jaw tight, breathing shallow, thoughts spiraling darker by the second.

You were too pure to understand. Too naive to know how badly someone like him could ruin you.

And still you kept talking, lips forming words like slow and careful and first time, with your legs tucked up in that little dress, skin glowing under the sunlight, and your voice all gentle like you didn’t just push him closer to the edge of insanity.

Heeseung turned away before he could do something stupid.

He’d take your purity. Your faith. Your wide-eyed, good girl trust.

And you’d thank him for it. Eventually.

Heeseung had always been patient. But with you?

He was starting to lose it.

You always liked Heeseung.

He was… sweet. That’s the word you always used to describe him when his name came up. Sweet in a quiet, almost grown-up way.

He didn’t talk as much as your other friends’ brothers. He wasn’t loud or annoying or rude. He never made fun of you the way some older boys did for being a little dumb and not knowing about sports or video games. Heeseung always just smiled at you gently, nodding when you greeted him, letting you pass through doorways first. He was respectful. Kind.

He made you a cup of warm milk once, when you couldn’t sleep during a sleepover. Brought it to you with honey and cookies, placed it right in your hands with a soft, “Don’t burn your tongue.” And your heart fluttered just a little. Because not many boys talked to you like that, gentle, patient, almost protective.

You chalked it up to him being older. More mature.

You liked being around him, even if you didn’t know him that well. There was something about his presence that made you feel… safe. Watched, maybe. But not in a bad way. You were never afraid of him. If anything, you liked when he looked at you. He had these eyes. Dark and deep and a little tired sometimes, like he didn’t sleep enough. But when they landed on you, you felt warm all over, like being wrapped in a blanket straight from the dryer. It made your cheeks burn, but you always looked away quickly, unsure if you were imagining it.

You didn’t think he really noticed you. Not like that.

Why would he?

You were… just you. Sweet, shy, quiet. Not bold or sexy like the girls you’d seen hanging around guys like him. You wore cardigans and ballet flats and tried not to say the wrong thing. You blushed too easily. You still slept with a ton of stuffed animals. You still wandered around at Miniso for too long and got excited about Sanrio blind boxes. You went to church and attended bible study. You liked sugary pop and romantic movies. And you believed—genuinely—that waiting for marriage was the right thing. Your parents had raised you that way, and you still held onto it, even when your friends laughed or called it old-fashioned.

It was something special. And you wanted to give it to someone who saw it that way too.

Sometimes—only sometimes—you’d wonder what Heeseung thought about things like that. If he was the kind of guy who’d understand. But then you’d shake the thought off, cheeks burning, because what were you even thinking? Heeseung was nice, sure, but he was also older. Experienced. And incredibly handsome, one of the most handsome boys you’d ever known. With his beautiful hair and that knee-dropping smile and he always smelled so manly and expensive. He probably dated girls who wore lingerie and knew what they were doing. Not girls like you.

Still… sometimes when you caught him looking at you, it made your stomach do this weird little flip.

Once, you dropped your lip gloss cap on the kitchen floor, and before you could bend to pick it up, he was already there, crouched in front of you, holding it out with two fingers and a soft little smirk.

“Careful,” he murmured, voice low and warm. “I know these are expensive”

Your face got so hot you had to excuse yourself. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything.

Because Heeseung was sweet. That was all. He was just nice to you.

He wasn’t expecting you to be there.

He’d just come back from a long afternoon playing soccer with his friends, sweaty, mildly irritated from traffic, and ready to collapse in his room. But the second he walked through the door, he heard the sliding glass door to the backyard open, followed by high-pitched laughter. His sister.

And then yours.

He paused in the hallway.

And when he looked through the kitchen window, when he saw you lying there in the sun like some kind of clueless daydream, all soft skin and sunkissed glow, he nearly dropped his keys.

You were wearing a bikini.

It wasn’t even that revealing, he could admit that. It was light blue, maybe a little frilly, definitely conservative by most standards. You weren’t trying to show anything off. You were stretched out on a towel beside his sister, sipping something cold through a straw, big sunglasses covering your eyes, your hair pulled back in a lazy ponytail that exposed the delicate line of your neck. The fabric clung to your chest, modest but tight. Your stomach was bare, soft, smooth, glowing in the late afternoon sun. Your legs stretched out forever, the curve of your thighs making his throat go dry. And when you shifted onto your side, he saw the way the bottoms hugged your hips and your ass and he had to grip the edge of the counter just to stay put.

Fuck.

You had no idea.You probably didn’t even think about him seeing you like that. You’d just smiled and slipped into your little bikini, completely unaware that you’d just become the centerpiece of every filthy thought he’d been trying to suppress for weeks.

He watched the way you laughed at something his sister said, the way you tucked your legs beneath you and took another sip of your drink, lips wrapping around the straw like it was nothing. Like you weren’t killing him.

Then, as if you could feel his eyes on you, you sat up and turned toward the house.

And you waved at him. Big smile. Sunglasses pushed up onto your head. Completely innocent.

“Oh, he’s here, hi Hee!”

He felt something snap in his chest.

He nodded, barely managing a stiff wave back before forcing himself away from the window. He stalked up the stairs to his room like a man on fire, slamming the door shut behind him and bracing his palms against it, chest heaving.

He could still see you. In his mind. Burned behind his eyelids. That soft stomach. That sweet, pretty smile. That perfect body he so wanted to ruin. Those lips wrapped around a straw like you didn’t even know what that did to him.

You were so fucking innocent. And he was losing it.

Heeseung shut his eyes, let his head fall back against the door, and pulled his pants down, his cock was already rock-hard beneath his boxers, and he wasted no time in stroking himself fast, desperate. He pictured you in his mind as his hand moved mercilessly, how you’d looked all bathed in his cum, how you’d look crying around him, how soft and warm and wet you’d feel around him, how he’d teach you, how a girl like you must be treated, and how you would say, with your velvet, sweet like honey voice “Thank you, Hee.” 

He didn’t just wanted to ruin you, he wanted to own you. He wanted to take every last small piece of innocence from you until you were completely his. He wanted to hold you. For him to use whenever he wanted to. 

He came on his hand incredibly hard, and embarrassingly fast, staining his jeans and the floor with his release. His chest heaving, your name still itching on his tongue.

“She doesn’t even know what she’s doing…”

But God, did he want to be the one to show you.

Later that same day, when you stepped into the kitchen that afternoon to get some water, wrapped in a towel over your damp bikini, and found him standing at the counter, you smiled.

“Oh—sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here,” you said shyly, adjusting the towel at your chest.

He turned to you slowly, and his smile was warm. Soft. The kind that made your stomach feel a little fluttery.

“It’s your house too,” he said casually, gesturing toward the fridge. “Want me to get that for you?”

“Oh, it’s okay—”

But he was already moving, opening the door, grabbing a cold bottle and uncapping it before gently placing it in your hand.

“Hydration’s important,” he teased, tapping the top of the bottle before stepping back, letting you pass.

You giggled, tucking your chin down. 

“Thank you.”

“You’re always so polite,” he said, still smiling, leaning against the counter now. “My sister could learn a thing or two from you.”

Your cheeks heated instantly. You ducked your head. 

“I just… I don’t wanna be a bother.”

“You’re not,” he said. And then, quieter—“You never are.”

Something about the way he said it made your heart squeeze. He wasn’t teasing. His voice was steady, sincere. His eyes met yours without flinching.

You took a sip of water to distract yourself, but your hands were a little shaky.

“You’re really sweet,” you blurted, before you could stop yourself. “I mean—you’re always so nice to me. I just… I notice.”

His mouth curved slowly into something that made your breath catch.

“I’m just being honest,” he said. “I think you deserve to have people be nice to you.”

There was something in the way he said it. Something that made your chest feel full and your skin feel warm.

“I’m really glad you’re around,” you whispered, more to your water bottle than to him.

And Heeseung’s gaze darkened, just for a split second, before it softened again.

“I’m glad you’re around too,” he said gently. “You’re… special.”

You looked up at him, heart thudding. The way he said that word—special—like it meant something deeper. Like it mattered.

You didn’t know he was watching your every micro-expression. That behind the kind smile, his mind was already several steps ahead. That every sweet thing he said was planting seeds, pulling you closer, curling you around his finger one word at a time.

You just thought he was being kind.

You didn’t know he was planning to own you.

“I don’t know… he’s just so nice,” you murmured, voice soft, cheeks warm as your fingers toyed nervously with the edge of your sleeve. “He’s really… gentle.”

Across the room, his sister raised an eyebrow as she leaned closer to her mirror, applying a coat of lip gloss with practiced precision. 

“…Heeseung?”

You nodded shyly. 

“Yeah. I know it probably sounds dumb, but… he always opens doors for me. And he brings me stuff without me even asking. He’s just really… sweet.”

You didn’t see the way her expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable crossed her face as she capped the gloss and turned toward you, arms crossed, hip resting against her dresser.

“I mean… he can be sweet,” she said, slowly. Carefully.

Your brows pinched. 

“Can be?”

She shrugged, casual but a little too measured. 

“He’s nice to you. That’s different.”

You propped yourself up on your elbows, blinking. 

“What do you mean?”

She hesitated, then crossed the room and dropped beside you on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath her. Her expression wasn’t suspicious, not accusing. Just… protective. Like she knew something you didn’t, and wasn’t sure if she should say it.

“I love my brother,” she started, her voice lighter now, like she didn’t want to make this a big deal. “But Heeseung’s not exactly… boyfriend material.”

Your heart skipped.

“He’s always been kind of a flirt,” she continued. “Girls fall for him constantly, and… he lets them. He’s a playboy, he uses them and discards them. He’s broken like more than 20 hearts I’m pretty sure. Plus, he only dates extremely sexual girls, I used to hear them every night, it was traumatising.”

You stayed quiet. Your fingers stilled on your sleeve. There was a tightness in your chest you didn’t quite understand.

“But…” you said slowly, “I don’t think he’s like that with me.”

“No,” she agreed quickly. “He’s not.”

You looked up at her.

She gave you a small smile.

 “Because you’re you. You’re not like the girls he usually talks to. You’re… innocent. You’re cute and soft and blush at Calvin Klein ads”

The word lingered in the air between you. Innocent. Like it meant something heavier than just naïve. Like it was a reason.

Your throat felt tight. 

“So… you think he’s pretending?”

“I don’t think he’s evil,” she said with a sigh, leaning back on her palms. “I just think Heeseung knows how to get people to like him. He’s smart. Charming. And really good at making you feel… special.”

You swallowed, blinking down at the soft bedspread beneath your hands. Something about those words unsettled you. You weren’t sure if it was the warning in her tone or the echo of your own thoughts that scared you more.

Because Heeseung did make you feel special.

“He just…” Your voice was barely audible now. “He makes me feel safe.”

She let out a small laugh, that meant more than it let on. 

“Yeah. That’s kind of his thing.”

You looked away, pretending to smooth the fabric on the bed, but your mind was somewhere else entirely, playing back all the soft smiles, the thoughtful gestures, the way his eyes always found you when you entered a room.

Maybe you were being stupid.

But maybe… it didn’t matter.

Because you were already falling.

Your parents were on a business trip that weekend so you spent over your best friends house, the perfect excuse for sleepover and watching movies until five a.m. But that afternoon your best friend had to go to cheerleading practice, you wanted to be a part of the team too, but your parents didn’t let you, saying that the skirts were too short and the dances inappropriate. So you stayed in her house, it wasn’t a big deal, you’d done it a few times before. But the thing his, her parents weren’t home either, too busy with work, and Heeseung was the only one at home. 

He was still asleep, probably hangover from a party. So you made yourself a smoothie and sat on the couch with a Pride and Prejudice copy on your lap, enjoying the sunlit, quiet day. 

It was like that for a couple of hours, and then he woke up. 

Heeseung watched you from the hallway for a full minute before stepping inside.

You were curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, flipping through some paperback with a pink cover, all soft focus and innocence. Your hair was damp from a shower. Skin dewy. That same oversized hoodie still clinging to your thighs, his sister’s, probably, but it looked better on you. 

And he saw an opportunity too.

He made sure to keep his steps light as he entered the room, careful not to startle you.

“Hey, angel,” he said, low and gentle.

You looked up and smiled immediately, same sweetness as always. His eyes were a little baggy, his face a little red and his hair messy, he was wearing a black hoodie and grey sweatpants, and he still looked so handsome. Even after a probably wild night.

“Hi, Hee.”

He said your name next, soft and drawn out. Like it was something he could taste.

You straightened a little, even though your posture was always perfect.

“You want the couch?”

“No,” he said, already settling beside you. “Just wanted to sit with you.”

You flushed at that. He noticed.

He always noticed.

He didn’t look at you right away. He leaned back, spreading his legs slightly, letting the silence stretch while you tried to focus on your book again. He could feel the heat from your thigh next to his, and every so often, your knee would brush his leg as you shifted.

After a few minutes, he let himself sigh. Low. Tired. Like he needed something.

You glanced at him.

“Rough night?” you asked, a bit teasing.

“Just long, had too many drinks, my heads spinning” he replied, then tilted his head toward you, eyes half-lidded. “But this helps.”

You blinked. 

“Me?”

He nodded, slow. 

“Yeah. You’re easy to be around. You make things quiet.”

That made you smile shyly, and he reached out—carefully—to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Your breath hitched. Just a little.

“You’re so sweet,” he murmured, voice so low almost like a whisper“I don’t think you even know what you do to people.”

Your eyes widened slightly, and he backtracked with a soft chuckle, tapping the book in your lap.

“I mean that in a good way,” he added. “You just… calm people. Make them feel safe.”

You laughed softly, clearly flustered. 

“That’s a nice thing to say.”

Heeseung hummed, and then, slowly—so slowly—he rested his hand on your bare knee.

You didn’t move. You didn’t say anything.

It was barely a touch. Just his palm resting there. Heavy, warm and possessive. You looked down at it, lips parted slightly, as if you weren’t sure what to think. But you didn’t pull away. You just blinked at him.

And he smiled.

“You’re okay with this, right?” he asked, voice velvet. “Just friends being close?”

You nodded, a little too quickly. 

“Yeah… I don’t mind.”

Of course you didn’t. You didn’t even realize he’d done it on purpose. That the contact had nothing to do with comfort and everything to do with pushing you one step closer to breaking.

His thumb stroked a lazy circle against your skin, and you felt it jump, every pore awake and too aware of his touch. No man had ever even touched your thigh like this, you wouldn’t have let them. 

You squirmed slightly, then tucked your legs closer beneath you, but not away from him.

“You’re warm,” you murmured, face still red, eyes a little glassy. 

Heeseung leaned in then, barely an inch. Just enough to let his breath brush your cheek.

“So are you,” he whispered.

Your lashes fluttered, and you swallowed hard, he was so close. Then he looked away and lazily grabbed the tv remote, but his hand didn’t leave your knee. 

You tried to focus again on the words written on the pages and the conflicts between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet, but you couldn’t. Because Heeseung kept touching you, even with his eyes glued to the basketball game on the tv. 

He knew you wouldn’t ask him to move. So he pushed further. His fingers wandered, innocent at first, trailing along the hem of your shorts like he wasn’t doing anything at all. Like it wasn’t deliberate. Like it didn’t make your stomach twist in knots.

You stiffened when his pinky slipped beneath the fabric, resting against the bare skin of your inner thigh.

Still, he didn’t look at you. Not once. Not even when your breath caught or when your hips shifted the tiniest bit, involuntary. He just kept watching the game, one leg spread comfortably, like this was nothing new to him.

"You’re quiet,” he murmured after a minute, tongue wetting his lips slowly. “Something wrong?”

You blinked at the book in your lap, realizing you hadn’t flipped a page in ten minutes. 

“No. I’m just… distracted.”

“Hm,” he hummed, his thumb now tracing lazy circles higher, barely grazing the sensitive skin that hadn’t been touched before. “You’re tense.”

You swallowed, shaking a bit.

“A little.”

“Don’t be,” Heeseung said, finally glancing at you with a calm, unreadable expression. “This is normal.”

Your brows pulled together. 

“Normal?”

He nodded, his touch still featherlight, maddening. 

“Yeah. Between friends. Friends touch like this.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. Heeseung, your best friend’s brother. Who always sat too close. Who looked at you too long. Who never touched you like this until today. 

“Oh…” you said softly, chewing your lip. You hadn’t heard that before, but he sounded so sure. So calm. You didn’t want to seem weird or make it awkward. “Okay…”

His hand stayed there, warm and steady. His touch even gentler now, but it felt deeper. Like it was sinking into your skin, curling around your bones.

You shifted a little. Your thighs pressed together, but you didn’t move his hand.

Because even if you didn’t fully understand what was happening…

You liked it. More than you should.

And Heeseung could tell.

That’s why he leaned in closer, breath brushing your ear as he said quietly,

 “See? Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

You didn’t answer him, but he could see it, in the way your lashes lowered, in the way your legs shifted just slightly, pressing together under his hand.

Heeseung smiled to himself.

“Feels good, right?” he murmured again, voice soft like he was talking you through something. “I told you. We are friends, we can be close like this.”

Your cheeks were burning now, but you still nodded. Slowly. 

“Y-Yeah…”

“That’s my good girl,” he praised, barely above a whisper, and your stomach flipped. You didn’t know why that made you feel warm all over, but it did. Like honey spreading beneath your skin. Like heat blooming where his fingers rested. A sensation that you had only felt a very few times before when you accidentally opened an explicit link on the internet or when an intimate scene came by in a romance movie.

And then he moved.

Just a little. His hand inched up, fingers slipping further under the leg of your shorts. Still calm, still slow, like nothing was wrong. Like he wasn’t now brushing the softest, most sensitive part of your thigh. His knuckles grazed the edge of your underwear, against the lace of your white panties. 

You inhaled sharply.

But Heeseung only tilted his head, glancing at you with those calm, dark eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, tone so gentle. So sweet.

You swallowed, fingers tightening around your book. 

“I—I think so…”

He nodded like that was the right answer. 

“You’re being really good. I’m proud of you.”

You blinked up at him, chest rising and falling faster now. 

“Really…?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, and his fingers dipped lower, just enough to make you gasp, but not enough to give you anything. “You’re letting me take care of you. That’s what friends do, right?”

You bit your lip, trembling just slightly. 

“I guess so…”

“You don’t have to think so hard,” he whispered, leaning in so close you could feel the smile in his voice. “Just let me do it for you. Let me make you feel good.”

You didn’t even notice your thighs falling open a little more. Like your body itself was responding to him. His smile deepened, just a twitch at the corner of his lips, barely there, but sharp. Like he was proud of himself. Proud of you.

"See?" he said, voice quiet and warm. "You’re relaxing already."

You nodded again, just to please him. Your brain was starting to blur around the edges, it was too much. His hand, his voice, the heat pulsing between your legs like it was begging him to go further.

Without warning, his fingers slipped under the waistband of your panties, knuckles grazing over soft, untouched skin.

You sucked in a sharp breath, hips flinching.

But he didn’t stop. Just kept going. Slowly. Carefully.

Like he’d done this a hundred times before.

Like this was routine.

Your whole body felt like it had been lit from the inside.

Heeseung’s fingers were slow, steady, gliding through your wetness, between your untouched folds, circling your clit with maddening patience. Every little movement sent electric shocks down your legs, curling your toes, making your stomach twist and tighten with something you didn’t know how to name.

You felt raw, sensitive. Ruined.

“Shhh,” he hushed gently, like he was calming you from a nightmare, not dragging you into the most sinful thing you’d ever felt. “It’s okay. It’s going to feel so nice, babygirl, I promise.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, lashes damp. You were so warm, too warm, your thighs twitching every time he brushed just right, you kept whimpering and letting out little sighs. Your knees had started to fall open for him without you realizing, your body seeking more without permission.

“You’re wet, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice low and full of something darker. His lips brushed your cheek, but his fingers brushed lower. “Is that for me?”

You whimpered, heart pounding. You felt humiliated,  but you didn’t want him to stop. It was something you’d never felt before. 

“I-I don’t know—”

“Yes, you do,” he said, firmer this time. And he pressed in deeper, one finger sliding slick and slow through you before circling your clit again, just soft enough to leave you aching.

Your legs jerked as you cried out. Your book slipped from your lap and hit the floor with a thud. But neither of you looked down.

Heeseung chuckled under his breath, mocking but sweet and kissed your cheek again. 

“So cute.”

You were blinking rapidly, face flushed, skin hot all over.

This wasn’t what friends did. You’d never even imagined something like this, never touched yourself, never let anyone else touch you. You told yourself you were saving it. Waiting for marriage. But this… this didn’t feel like sin.

It felt like need.

“Is this really okay?” you asked, your voice a tiny breath.

Heeseung smiled against your skin.

“It is if you let me.”

And you did. Your hips tilted forward, small, instinctive, still not fully understanding what was happening and his brain snapped a little at the sight.

God, he’d waited so long.

Heeseung had thought about this more nights than he’d ever admit. Always quietly, always respectfully. He never wanted to scare you, not his sweet, shy girl with her soft laugh and her trembling hands. He never even touched you wrong.

But now that you were here, legs spread for him, cheeks red and mouth open, soaking his fingers, he didn’t think he’d survive letting go.

His thumb pressed a little harder, and you cried out, hips stuttering up into his hand. You were so responsive. So sensitive. Your body was practically begging.

“You feel that?” he murmured, brushing against your clit again and again. “That’s your body asking for more.”

You whimpered again. Your legs were shaking. You didn’t even realize how much your hips were grinding into his hand, only that it felt like bliss.

“Feels too good to stop now, doesn’t it?” Heeseung whispered.

You nodded, dazed, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes from sheer overload. From the combination of embarrassment and arousal. 

“I’ll take care of you,” he said gently, like a promise. “Just let me make you feel good, baby. That’s all I want.”

Then his voice dipped, low and soft and dangerous:

“Been wanting this for so long… Wanting you like this. Spread out, sweet, dripping for me.”

You gasped, face crumbling, thighs twitching again as the pressure in your belly spiked.

Heeseung groaned, the sound rough and low in his throat. Then he slipped two fingers inside of you, and it burned so good. You felt yourself clench around him, soaked walls around his digits as he twisted his wrist and curled them inside of you touching something that made you cry again and jerk your hips up from the couch.

“There it is, look at you. So fucking beautiful like this. Don’t even know what you do to me.”

Between your hazy view you saw it, saw him. The bulge against the cotton of his sweatpants, thick and big and pulsing. But it was too much, your face became all red again and you closed your eyes again. 

“I shouldn’t…” you whispered, more to yourself than him. Overwhelmed by the obscene sound coming out of you everytime his palm slammed against your pussy. Your eyes blinked through the haze, guilt pooling in your throat. “I—I’ve never even—”

Heeseung leaned in again, so warm and calm, like none of this fazed him. His free hand stroked your cheek gently, thumb brushing under your eye.

“I know,” he said softly, like he understood everything. “You’re a good girl. You wanted to be careful.”

You swallowed hard, blinking up at him. His voice, his fingers, the way he looked at you like you were something precious even while his touch made your head spin, it made your heart ache and your stomach twist all at once.

His fingers pushed in deeper, slow and steady, letting you feel every inch of it. Your back arched without thinking, your breath coming in soft, broken gasps. You could feel yourself dripping until you were soaking the couch beneath you.

“Oh, baby…” Heeseung cooed, the pad of his thumb still rubbing gentle circles over your clit. “You’re clenching so tight. Didn’t know you could feel this good, did you?”

You shook your head, face burning. Your thighs were twitching, your hips rolling into his hand like your body couldn’t help it.

“That’s okay,” he whispered, nuzzling his nose against your cheek, so soft it made your head spin. “That’s what I’m here for. To teach you. Help you. Good girls like you deserve to feel this good”

Another finger slipped in beside the first two, your walls stretching around him. Your jaw dropped, a helpless little moan spilling out, and he groaned, so quiet, but filthy.

“Shit. Listen to you. Didn’t even touch you like this before and already making those pretty noises,” he murmured, his voice like silk wrapped around sin. “So fucking sweet for me.”

You tried to cover your mouth, shame flooding through you, but he caught your wrist instantly, guiding it down.

“Don’t hide,” he said gently. “I like hearing you. That’s the whole point, baby. You’re doing so well.”

His fingers curled just right, pressing into that soft, spongy spot again, that made your legs jerk and a loud gasp break free from your throat. Your body was shaking now, breath ragged, and Heeseung only smiled, watching you unravel.

White heat bloomed low in your belly. Your breath came in short, choppy bursts, each one catching on the edge of a whimper. You couldn’t keep still, your hips were rocking up without permission, chasing the next touch, the next wave. You could feel yourself getting wetter, slick dripping down the backs of your thighs, sticking to your skin.

It was shameless. But you couldn’t care. You weren’t even thinking anymore. Not with the way he kept touching you like he’d done it a thousand times before, like he knew how to wring every little cry out of you.

"Feels good, doesn’t it?” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear like silk. “Letting someone take care of you like this?”

You nodded frantically, eyes glassy, mouth parted around a breathless gasp. Your hands gripped the couch cushion for something to anchor you, but it didn’t help. Everything felt like it was slipping, your thoughts, your morals, your control.

His fingers moved again, curling slow and deep, then sliding up to stroke over your clit with maddening tenderness.

Your back arched hard. You let out something between a sob and a moan.

Your body was buzzing, heat pulsing under your skin, your heartbeat hammering in your ears. Your nipples were tight, pressed against the fabric of your hoodie, overly sensitive even without being touched. You couldn’t even close your legs, your thighs trembled too much, weak and twitching, falling open for him again and again.

You were so close to something. So close it hurt.

And Heeseung just watched, mouth parted slightly, eyes dark, like he was watching his favorite thing in the world unfold.

“Look at you,” he murmured, thumb rolling lazy circles over your clit. “Falling apart so easy for me. You like this, baby?”

You whimpered. 

“Y-Yeah… I can’t— it’s— it’s too—”

He kissed your cheek, your jaw, down the side of your neck.

“You can. I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice dripping with affection. “Just let it happen. Let me make you feel good.”

The pressure broke all at once.

You came with a cry, thighs snapping shut around his hand, body seizing and twitching. Your nails dug into the cushion, into his shoulder, whatever you could grab. It hit you hard, like heat and lightning bursting in your chest and spreading through your limbs.

You couldn’t stop moaning. Couldn’t stop trembling. You were sobbing quietly now, overwhelmed by how good it felt. How full. How perfect.

Heeseung held you through it, one arm wrapped around your back, the other between your legs, stroking you through every aftershock like he wanted to memorize the way you pulsed around his fingers.

You collapsed against him, body limp and slick with sweat.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered again, softer this time. “So perfect, sweetheart. So, so good.”

Heeseung settled between your legs, like a painter admiring his masterpiece, dragging your ruined panties down slowly, almost reverently. You squirmed a little bit, too sensitive, too gone. Your mind wasn’t working anymore, you felt ashamed, used, but also you felt released. Your chest was still heaving, still trying to catch your breath, your pussy pulsing and dripping. 

“Look at this mess,” he murmured, holding the fabric up, sticky and soaked. “You came so hard, baby. All over my fingers. Didn’t even know your little pussy could do that, did you?”

You let out a choked gasp, hands flying up to cover your face.

He chuckled softly, spreading your thighs again. 

“Uh-uh. No hiding. I made you feel good, didn’t I?”

You nodded slowly, not trusting your voice, still dizzy from how hard you'd come.

“Yeah?” He smiled, almost smug but still so sweet. “Then how do good girls respond when someone makes them feel good?”

You swallowed, heart skipping. His fingers brushed your inner thigh again, featherlight, reminding you who was in control. You hesitated, lips parting.

He clicked his tongue. 

“C’mon, sweetheart. You can say it.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. 

“...Thank you.”

Heeseung’s eyes softened, his thumb stroking your skin with approval.

“There she is,” he said, praising you with a soft kiss to your cheek. “My good girl.”

Your cheeks burned hotter than ever. You were dripping, legs wide open with nothing to shield you but your shaking hands, and Heeseung just looked so calm. Like this wasn’t a big deal. Like seeing you like this was normal.

“I’ve barely touched you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your knee. “And already got you shy? Poor thing… You’re so fucking cute when you’re embarrassed.”

You whimpered behind your hands, thighs instinctively trying to close, but his palms held them open, firm but still gentle.

Then your phone buzzed somewhere on the couch.

You jolted, startled, blinking through the haze. Heeseung didn’t even flinch, just slid his hands up your thighs a little higher, thumbs brushing teasingly close again.

“I-I think that’s—” you tried to sit up, but he gently pushed you back down with a kiss to your inner thigh.

���Check it,” he said smoothly, but his eyes never left your soaked cunt.

Your fingers fumbled for the phone, brain still barely catching up, vision blurry as you unlocked it.

Bestie : omw back home now! be there in 10 🫶

Your heart nearly stopped.

“She’s coming back,” you gasped, sitting up fully now, panic blooming in your chest. “Heeseung, we have to—”

“Relax, angel” His voice was calm. Dangerous. Sweet.

He leaned in again, dragging his tongue slowly, deliberately, up your soaked folds. You cried out, half-shoving your phone aside as your body betrayed you, hips bucking into his mouth.

“She won’t be here for another ten,” he murmured, licking his lips like he was tasting something divine. “That’s enough time for me to make you come again.”

“But—”

“You’re already dripping,” he said, cutting you off with a filthy grin, fingers slipping back through your slick folds. “She’s not even here yet, and you’re still wide open for me. You want me to finish, don’t you?”

You whimpered, helpless. 

“I-I don’t know if I can—”

“Oh, you can,” he said, and kissed your trembling thigh again, right beside the spot where his fingers were teasing you.

His thumb pressed against your clit just as two fingers slipped in again, easily this time, your soaked walls clenching down immediately.

Heeseung groaned low in his throat.

“Fuck. Still so tight.” He looked up at you, mouth wet, eyes dark with something wicked. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

You let out a soft cry, body arching into his touch.

And still, his voice was gentle. Loving.

“I’m gonna make you come again, sweetheart,” he whispered, thumb circling your clit faster now. “Nice and quick, right here on the couch, before she walks in and sees what a needy little mess you are for me.”

You were already close again. Too sensitive, too worked up, but it didn’t matter. Not with the way he was touching you. Not with how good he made it feel.

You could barely form a thought, let alone protest.

Your best friend would be home in minutes. But all you could think about was the burn in your belly, the ache between your legs, and her brother’s fingers stretching you open like they belonged there.

It had been a few days, and you couldn’t sleep. 

You turned over in bed for what felt like the hundredth time, blankets twisted around your legs, skin damp from heat that had nothing to do with the weather. The open window let in a soft breeze, cool against your flushed skin, but it did nothing to calm you. You were too aware of your body. Too aware of the empty ache between your legs. Of what had happened.

And worse, how much you still wanted it to happen again.

Your phone sat face down on the nightstand. Quiet. Still. But you felt it like it was burning a hole beside you. Your best friend had texted earlier. A casual “You didn’t come over this weekend” with a sad face emoji that you couldn’t bring yourself to open.

You were supposed to wait.

You had told yourself that a hundred times. That no one would get to touch you like that, not unless you were in love. Not unless it was forever. You hadn’t even touched yourself before. That part of you was supposed to be sacred. Untouched. Yours.

And now?

Now you could still feel the echo of him between your thighs. His voice, low and sweet, telling you how good you were. How wet, how tight. You could still feel his fingers, slow and patient and deep, pushing you over the edge until you broke apart in his hands.

Your body ached at the memory, hot, needy, restless.

You pulled your knees up and pressed your thighs together, trying to fight it. But it was impossible. Everything throbbed. Everything missed him.

Tears pricked your eyes.

You hadn’t cried yet, not after it happened. You’d felt too dizzy, too shocked. But now, days later, it was crashing down all at once. The guilt. The shame. The confusing, gnawing want.

You wiped at your face, then hesitated. Your hand froze against your cheek.

You wanted to try.

Just once.

You bit your lip, heart hammering. You slid your fingers down slowly, uncertainly. Every part of you trembled. It felt wrong. But your body was already warm, already wet, as if it remembered what to expect. Your fingers grazed over your folds. Tentative, barely there.

You let out a breath, shaky, embarrassed. It didn’t feel bad, but it wasn’t right, either. It wasn’t him.

You tried again. Pressed down more, tried to mimic the slow circles Heeseung had made against your clit. Your legs twitched. Your stomach tensed. But the pleasure didn’t bloom, it stalled, stuck behind shame and frustration.

Heeseung had made you melt with nothing but his hands and a few filthy words. You couldn’t even make yourself moan.

Your hand fell away.

You turned your face into your pillow and finally let yourself cry.

You hated that he had that power now. That your body only responded to his touch, his voice, his praise.

You felt dirty. Ruined. A part of you wanted to scrub yourself clean, erase every second of that afternoon on the couch. But another part, the darker, hungrier part, wanted him back between your legs. Whispering in your ear. Telling you how good you were when you couldn’t even think straight.

You curled up tighter under the blankets, fingers trembling, your thighs still sticky and warm with need. You had never felt so empty.

And it terrified you to realize:

You didn’t want to be pure anymore.

You just wanted him.

Heeseung wasn’t going to stop now. No, he waited so long for this, and since he broke you only with his fingers, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you. It was worse than before. Maybe it was wrong, maybe he shouldn’t be using you like this, but the worst part of all, is that he knew that you would fall apart the next time he put his hands on you, that you won’t stop him, because thing with innocent, pure girls like you, is that once you tasted a bit of sin, you would become addict. 

You’d been quieter than before, this weekend you were staying over again, and you had been avoiding eye contact all day, just shyly munching on a pizza slice while his sister talked about some school drama, and every time your gaze locked with his for even just a few little seconds, you blushed and looked away instantly. 

But he noticed. 

The way you were clenching your thighs together under the table, the way you were nervously biting your lip until it was red and swollen, the way your eyes turned glassy. 

You wanted more, you were just too shy to admit. 

So he was going to push. 

That’s why, later that night when you walked to the kitchen to get a glass of water in the middle of the night, he was already there. 

You froze in the doorway.

The kitchen light was off, but the fridge door was open, the dim white glow across the room. Heeseung stood in front of it, shirtless, the lines of his back and shoulders lit in sharp contrast, shadows painting him like something unreal. He turned his head just slightly, already knowing it was you.

“Couldn’t sleep, angel?” His voice was quiet, low. 

You hesitated. Your bare feet curled against the cold tile. 

“...Just thirsty.”

Heeseung turned around slowly, closing the fridge door with one hand. In the silence that followed, your pulse pounded in your ears. He was so close. The kitchen was so small. You could smell his skin, clean, warm, manly. Him. 

“You’ve been avoiding me.” He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, voice calm. Almost teasing. “I’m hurt.”

You almost stopped breathing.

“I haven’t—”

“You have.” He smiled a little, tilting his head. “Barely looked at me all day. Not even when I sat next to you. Not even when I cut a slice of pizza for you.”

Your eyes dropped instantly, heart fluttering like it always did when he spoke like that, low and sure, like he already knew what you were thinking.

“I was just... distracted” you said weakly.

He didn’t buy it.

“Is that why you’re walking around with those pretty thighs clenched tight all day?” He moved closer, so close your back bumped the edge of the counter. His hand came up, just ghosting your arm. “That why you haven’t said a word to me since I made you cum like a good girl?”

Your breath shuddered out of you.

“Heeseung…”

“I think you want more,” he murmured, voice dropping just for you. “But you’re too shy to ask.”

Your skin lit up everywhere he hovered. You couldn’t meet his gaze, couldn’t speak, because it was true. You’d been thinking about it since it happened, his touch, his voice, the way he made you feel like you were unraveling just from his fingers. You tried not to want it again. Tried to forget.

But your body hadn’t forgotten.

Heeseung leaned in, one hand resting beside your head on the counter, boxing you in. 

“I bet you even tried to touch yourself, didn’t you?”

You inhaled sharply.

“I bet it didn’t work,” he continued, brushing his nose against your temple. “I bet you got frustrated and teary, all needy and messy, because it wasn’t me.”

You felt the air leave your lungs.

“How’d you feel, baby?” he whispered. “All alone in your bed, fingers not doing what you needed? Thinking about me instead?”

You let out a small, wrecked sound, and he smirked.

“I knew it,” he said, dragging one finger slowly down your bare arm. “You were so good before, so pure”

His hand trailed down your side, until it rested just above your hip, warm and sure. 

“And the worst part?” he said, leaning in closer until his lips brushed your jaw. “You like it.”

Heeseung kissed the corner of your mouth, just once. 

“So... do you want me to make you feel good again?”

You nodded, tiny, helpless, breathless.

“Use your words,” he said, thumb stroking your hip, patient but demanding.

“I… I want it,” you whispered.

“Yeah?” His voice was a low hum, pleased and dangerous. “Say please.”

You looked up at him then, eyes shiny and teary and full of shame and need.

“Please.”

Heeseung grinned, eyes dark. 

“Good girl.”

That's how you ended up in his room, only in your tiny laced panties, on top of him trying to respond to the messy kiss he was giving to you. It was a mess of tongues and saliva, no one had ever kissed you like this before, like he wanted to devour you and own you, but you liked it, liked the feeling of his warm lips against yours, not giving but taking.

“You’re already shaking,” he murmured, voice low and dripping with amusement. “Didn’t even touch you yet.”

Your breath hitched as he leaned down, lips brushing your jaw.

“Tell me you missed it,” he whispered.

You hesitated, eyes wide, hands gripping his shoulders, trembling. But you couldn’t lie. Not when your body was practically begging.

“I… I missed it.”

Heeseung smiled against your neck.

“Good girl.”

His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to stop him. But you didn’t, you couldn’t. Not when your body remembered the way he made you feel, how his voice made you melt, how he knew exactly where to touch, how it felt to be undone by someone you blindly trusted too much.

You whimpered and your thighs tried to close, but he was already between them, already pressing open-mouthed kisses down your chest. Another small, pathetic sound left your throat when his tongue circled around your hardened nipples, so sensitive, a jolt of pleasure going through your whole body.

“Say it,” he demanded gently. “Tell me who you need.”

“You,” you whispered, eyes fluttering shut. “I-I need you.”

His grin turned wicked.

“That’s right. That's my good girl."

He kissed his way lower, letting his hands spread your thighs wide again. The heat between your legs throbbed, slick with anticipation. He groaned softly at the sight.

“My messy girl," he murmured, running a teasing finger through your folds. “You’re soaked already. Just for me.”

You moaned, body arching, your hands flying to your mouth to stifle the sound. But Heeseung wasn’t having that.

“Uh-uh,” he scolded, gently prying your hands away. “You don’t get to hide from me. Not anymore.”

He shifted, guiding you up gently so you were straddling his thigh. His large hands gripped your waist, coaxing you forward until the heat of your core was pressed firmly against the muscle of his leg.

"You missed me this much, baby? You want to feel good again?" his voice was sweet but low and there was small hint of mocking in it, but you didn't care, you were so needy, you wanted to feel it again.

So you just nodded, shamelessly, eyes starting to water.

Then he smiled and gripped your hips, making you grind against his thigh. A shiver went down your spine, a flick of pleasure pulsing in your soaked intimacy, and you moaned, high-pitched and aching.

"Just like that,” he murmured, voice low and coaxing. “Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

Your breath stuttered, your hands clinging to his shoulders for balance. You’d never done anything like this—never even thought you could—but Heeseung’s steady grip and the heat in his gaze made you feel brave. Safe. He moved your hips slowly for you, rocking you back and forth against the firm muscle of his thigh. The friction sent sparks flying through you, and your head dropped against his chest with a whimper.

“Feel that?” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your temple. “That’s it. So good for me. Look at how well you listen.”

Your thighs were trembling, slick pooling between them, as his thigh flexed beneath you. Every roll of your hips pulled another whimper from your lips. The pressure was dizzying, just the right angle, like he knew what your body craved before you did. Every nerve in your body was on fire. You couldn’t even talk, couldn’t think. You were just mumbling nonsense, incoherent “I-It feels so good - so good” “I’ve never…” “Oh my god!” 

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he whispered, guiding you faster now. “Look at you, making a mess all over me.”

Heeseung watched you with dark, hungry eyes, eyes that soaked in every twitch, every moan, every clench of your thighs. You looked ruined and perfect, and he loved it. Loved that he was the one making you fall apart like this.

“Come for me like this,” he whispered, voice rough with want. “I want to feel you fall apart right here, sweet girl.”

Your body shook, every nerve lit up as your release hit, clenching helplessly around nothing, your slick soaking his skin. You whimpered into his shoulder, tears spilling over your cheeks from the intensity of it all. Your heart was pounding so hard it echoed in your ears, your body wrung out and trembling.

But Heeseung wasn’t done. Not even close.

“Shh, don’t think,” he murmured against your ear, rocking you slow and lazy through the aftershocks. “You don’t need to think when you’re with me. Just be my good girl. Let me take care of everything.”

He tilted your chin up, made you meet his eyes through your haze.

“Forget all that other stuff,” he whispered. “Your rules, your guilt. Doesn’t matter right now. You were made to feel good like this. You deserve this.”

He kissed you, slow and sweet, before adding with a low, filthy murmur:

“Now be a good girl and get dumb for me. Let me make you feel even better.”

And with your body pliant against his, still trembling from the high he gave you, you knew you would.

He was ruining you. Not even in a painful, mean way. 

In a soft, slow, dangerous way. 

You were once an innocent, shy girl. A girl that blushed at the slightest mention of sex, a girl that was scared of raising her voice. Maybe you still were like that, at least on the outside. But inside? You had become a mess of need. A thing that belonged to his voice, his hands, the memory of his touch on your body. Nothing else could reach you now. Nothing else could make you feel whole.

He kissed you like he owned you, made you grind on his thigh until you were shaking and soaked, your cheeks flushed and eyes glazed. And afterward, when you collapsed against his chest, still trembling, he cupped your jaw and whispered:

"I made you feel good, baby. And how do good girls say thank you?"

You didn’t know how to say it at first, too shy, too dizzy. So he kissed you again until you mumbled it through a moan “T-Thank you, Hee, thank you…” and he smiled like he'd just won a game.

It only got worse from there.

Late at night, you’d lie alone in bed, panties pushed to the side, phone pressed to your ear with tears pricking your eyes because it didn’t work. Not without him.

"That's it, angel," he’d murmur, voice low and thick through the speaker, probably touching himself too.”Do it how I taught you. Two fingers. Not too fast. Pretend it's me."

You’d whimper, thighs shaking, pillow soaked under your cheek. He always knew exactly what to say to make you fall apart. 

Then you started sneaking out. You’d wait until his sister was asleep beside you, breathing soft and even, before slipping out of bed in your oversized shirt and bare legs. You’d tiptoe down the hallway, heart pounding, to knock once on his door. He never made you wait long. He was always ready, leaning in the doorway with lazy eyes and bare chest, tugging you inside with one hand on your waist.

Some nights he didn’t even undress you. Just lifted your shirt and kissed your thighs, mouthing at the fabric of your panties until they were soaked through, whispering, “My angel, so needy for me, huh? Couldn’t even sleep without feeling me?”

Other nights, he sat on the bed, pulled you onto his lap, and made you grind against the bulge in his boxers until you were shaking, clinging to his shoulders, panting into his neck.

Sometimes, he didn’t touch you at all. Sometimes, he just kissed you. Slow, deep, messy kisses that made your legs tremble and your core ache, kisses that left you gasping for air and begging for more. He’d pull away with a smug grin, stroking your cheek. "Poor baby," he’d whisper, thumb brushing your wet lips. "So addicted to me, aren’t you?”

You stopped paying attention in class, you stopped listening to his sisters chatter, you stopped listening to the priests words. Everything in your mind was him, and you couldn’t wait for the next time he touched you. It was so embarrassing, sometimes you’d wake up in the middle of the night after dreaming about him, eyes glassy and panties soaked, your core pulsing full with need but you were too shy to call him so you’d cry yourself to sleep until the pain went away. And when that time came, where he finally touched you again, you melted the right second his hands slipped between your legs. 

Your body wasn’t yours anymore, it was his.

You stopped wearing panties around the house, you knocked on his bedroom door like a habit. Every time you felt empty, every time you needed him, he was there, whispering in your ear:

"That’s my girl. So needy all the time, aren’t you? You can’t help it. I’ve ruined you.”

And that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst part, you were falling in love with him.

It didn’t happen all at once.

At first, it was just about the way he made you feel. That overwhelming pleasure. The way he knew your body better than you did. The way he spoke to you, praised you, touched you like you were made just for him.

But then it crept in, quiet and slow, the way real feelings always do. It was in the way your heart started skipping when you saw his name light up your phone. In the way you lingered in his room a little longer after he made you come, hoping he’d ask you to stay. In the way you watched him when he wasn’t looking, memorizing the slope of his nose, the curve of his mouth, the way his lashes curled when he blinked.

And it did hurt, a little bit. Because maybe you were naive and dreamy, but you knew, that deep down, he didn’t love you. At least not the way you wanted him to love you. He loved how obedient you were, how easy you made it for him. He loved the mess you made on his sheets, the way your voice shook when you begged. He loved owning you.

But that was it. 

The thing is, you hadn’t done anything past touches and oral sex, but you knew, eventually, that you would beg for it, for him to take you completely, you were at the very edge, and you knew that, when that finally happened, you would be completely lost. And maybe you wanted to. 

Maybe the idea of giving him that final part of yourself—your last piece of innocence—felt like the only way to truly belong to him.

Because you already belonged to him, didn’t you?



You were in his room again. 

The door was shut, locked, you thought, but your mind was too hazy to be sure. You couldn’t think properly, couldn’t breathe without hiccuping on the moans slipping past your lips. Your thighs trembled as he moved his fingers inside of you, thumb moving lazily over your swollen clit, whimpering and gasping for air when he curled them inside of you against your soaked walls, eyes full of tears, face all flushed.

It was the third one. 

“Hee” you whimpered, voice cracking, shame burning hot in your chest. “I-I can’t— it’s too—”

“You can,” he murmured, leaning closer, his lips brushing your ear. “You’re doing so good for me, baby. Look how wet you are—fuck. So tight, too.”

You shook your head before you could stop yourself, tears collecting at the corners of your lashes. He groaned low in his throat like it turned him on even more, curling his fingers just right inside you again, hitting that spot that made your legs kick, that made your hips lift without your permission.

“You're so sweet, so fucking innocent—” his fingers twisted slightly, “—and you’re letting me ruin you in my bedroom with your best friend asleep just down the hall. That’s so bad, baby.”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until his thumb pressed down just a little harder and your back arched off his sheets like it wasn’t even your body anymore.

“Hee—Heeseung, I—” Your voice broke on a gasp, hands fisting in the sheets now, legs trembling uncontrollably. “It’s happening—please, I can’t—”

“You can,” he whispered again, fingers still curling so deep inside you, his voice so low and filthy it made you shiver. “You’re cumming, baby. Let it happen. Let me feel you—come on, be a good girl.”

It was too much, your body tightened around him, all that pressure finally snapping and spilling over into something uncontrollable. You cried out for him, legs kicking slightly, body going stiff, then trembling all over as the heat surged through you, pleasure rolling over in waves. Your eyes blurred, your mouth fell open, and his name broke off your lips again and again like it was the only thing holding you to the earth.

“Fuck,” Heeseung groaned, watching you fall apart like he was committing it to memory, his fingers slowing down but never stopping. “That’s it. That’s my good girl. So fucking pretty when you cum.”

You were gasping, panting, blinking through tears, your whole body twitching from aftershocks. You had never felt anything like this before. Not even close. 

Heeseung removed his fingers with a slick sound, bringing them to his mouth and moaning at the sweet taste of you, and while your body was still shaking, you felt your cheeks burn, he always did that but it made you shy anyways. 

But there was something about you tonight, you felt like it just wasn’t enough anymore. The touches, the late nights with his fingers between your legs or you riding his thigh until you were shaking. You wanted more. 

You wanted him. 

So with breathy, weak voice, you spoke to him while he kissed you, against his lips. 

“Please, Heeseung,” you whispered, voice barely holding together. “I want it to be you.”

Heeseung stopped, then exhaled like he’d been punched in the gut. His eyes darkened, throat working as he hovered over you, one hand curling around your jaw while the other stroked his cock in slow, lazy motions, over the fabric of his sweatpants. 

“Say that again,” he said, voice deep, low, dangerous. “Look me in the eye and tell me.”

Your cheeks got red again, and you blinked as you felt a tear slip down one of them. 

“I want you,” you said shakily. “Please. I want you to take my virginity.”

A growl ripped from his throat. It was like something snapped inside of him. 

He let go of his cock, grabbed your hips instead, dragging you completely down the bed roughly, making you gasp, until your thighs were spread wide under him, your entrance bare and glistening and sensitive, still pulsing and so exposed you wanted to cry from shame and need at the same time. Heeseung then pushed down his pants in one movement, freeing his cock completely and you blushed again because this was the first time you saw him like this. He was thick, so thick that your legs trembled at the thought of it inside of you, he was veiny and his tip was red and glistening with precum. 

His touch was still soft but rougher when without hesitation, like he had been waiting for this his whole life, he grabbed the hem of your hoodie and slipped it out of you before throwing it on the floor. You couldn’t even respond before his lips found your sensitive nipples, hot and wet mouth around them, and you moaned his name arching your back against him, wanting to feel more of his touch. 

“So fucking polite,” he murmured, teasing the head of his cock against your folds, not pushing in. “Begging me all sweet like that. You really don’t know what you’re getting into, do you?”

You whimpered, blinking up at him, breathing fast.

“Poor thing,” he smirked, cock twitching against your entrance. “Gonna split you open. Stretch this tight little virgin cunt until you cry.”

The second he started pushing in, the thick head of him breaching your untouched walls, your lips parted in a high, broken sound, your body tensed all over, too much, too full, too hot, and he just groaned, head dropping to your shoulder.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “You’re tight. Tighter than I even dreamed.”

You gasped again when he shifted his hips and went deeper, inch by inch, your walls stretching around him, clinging so tight he could barely move. It burned. It throbbed. Your legs were shaking around him, fingers digging into his back like you were drowning. You closed your eyes with so much force that you saw starts, tears falling down the red skin of your cheeks. 

“Hurts—” you whispered.

His gaze softened just a little bit, but he didn’t stop.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, licking your tears away, “first time always does. But I promise I’ll make it feel good. You trust me, right?”

You nodded. It was messy and desperate, and you didn’t know why, this man had taken all the purity from you, but you did.

“Good girl.” His hips rolled slowly, and you felt him everywhere, thick and hot and heavy inside you, pressing so deep it made your stomach flutter, stretching your walls so good, you felt so full, so owned. “I want you to remember this,” he said darkly, mouth dragging over your ear. “Every time you feel sore, every time you feel me dripping out of you later, I want you to remember who did this to you.”

You moaned, helpless, as he started to move, slow and deep, dragging his cock out until just the tip remained before pushing all the way back in, making your whole body jerk. The stretch stung, but your body was softening around him, wet and fluttering, clinging like it wanted more. Your hair was sticking to your forehead, your cheeks soaked with tears, your heart full of shame but somehow, full of love too because you were loving this, loving how he felt, how he was talking to you, how he moved inside of you. 

“Look at you,” Heeseung murmured, dragging your legs higher around his waist. “So good for me. Crying, shaking, and you’re still letting me fuck this virgin pussy like it’s mine.”

You nodded again, not even thinking, and his hips pushed again, a little rougher this time, and a  loud cry broke from your throat as he slammed back in, the sharp sting of the stretch still there, but somehow it just made everything more intense. His cock dragged along your walls so deep, so full, the pressure at your core tightening unbearably.

He smirked. 

“Yeah? It is mine?”

“Yours,” you whispered, tears running hot down your cheeks.

“That’s right,” he cooed, snapping his hips harder now, slow but with force, enough to knock the breath out of your lungs each time. “You’ll never be this innocent again, sweetheart. I’m takin’ all of it.”

His hand slid between your bodies again, his thumb finding your swollen clit, rubbing soft, tight circles that made you scream.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunted, holding your thighs up around his waist, folding you open like he owned you. “You’re taking it so well now. Pussy’s learnin’ me, isn’t it? Getting used to this cock already.”

You moaned through clenched teeth, head rolling back into the pillow, overwhelmed. It felt like too much, he was so heavy over your body, but also not enough, your body craving more even as it trembled beneath him.

“Eyes on me,” he said, grabbing your jaw with one hand and forcing you to look up at him. “I want you to watch while I ruin you.”

Your lashes fluttered, tears clinging to your cheeks. You were crying, breath hitching, but not from pain, it was all just too much. And you loved it. His pace picked up. Not brutal but relentless, deep, rolling thrusts that made your thighs shake, your toes curl, your breath come in broken sobs as he slammed against your skin with wet, obscene sounds.

You couldn’t speak, ouldn’t think straight. All the shame and shyness disappeared the second you felt him inside of you. His cock dragged against your walls with each deep thrust, your body slick and messy, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room with every movement.

“Listen to how wet you are,” he whispered, almost laughing, dark, low, obsessed. “Dripping for me. So fuckin’ tight, but your pussy’s greedy, baby. She wants more, huh?”

You sobbed, your back arching when he suddenly shifted, folding you deeper, pressing your knees toward your chest as he sank in even further, stealing the air from your lungs.

“Oh my god—Heeseung—” you gasped.

“Yeah? You feel that? That’s me right here—” he slid a hand down to press against your lower stomach, just over where the head of his cock was hitting deep inside. “Right there, baby. Right where you needed me.”

Your hands scrambled up to his shoulders, nails dragging uselessly over his skin as your body trembled. Your brain was melting, no thoughts left except HeeseungHeeseungHeeseung. You felt it again, the pressure building, everything was too much. And he knew it. 

“Gonna cum again?” he mocked sweetly. “That’s so cute. Barely been fucked and already falling apart. Is it too much?”

You sobbed out a moan, your body arching up, clenching around him like you couldn’t stop.

“Thank me,” he said suddenly, voice sharp in your ear. “Say thank you for fucking you this good.”

Your eyes fluttered open, dazed and wide, lips trembling.

“Say it,” he ordered, pushing deeper, hips grinding against your pelvis until your thighs shook uncontrollably. “Be a good girl.”

“Th-thank you,” you choked out, voice wrecked. “Thank you, Heeseung.”

He groaned, cock twitching deep inside you.

“Say thank you for taking my virginity.”

You cried harder, but you said it, gasping through tears, face flushed and humiliated and so turned on it hurt. But you didn’t care, you were his now.

“Thank you… for taking it,” you sobbed. “Thank you for ruining me.”

“Fuck,” he hissed. “That’s my girl.”

His thrusts got faster, deeper, pounding into your sweet, tender pussy like he was claiming it, like he wanted to leave it swollen and aching and full of him.

“Gonna cum inside,” he growled. “Gonna fill you up and keep it there. Want you dripping, sore, thinking of me every time you sit down.”

Your body tensed all over again, everything built fast, hot, unbearable, and you came with a scream, tears falling as your body shook, muscles locking around him so tight he groaned, hips stuttering

“Fuck, that’s it,” Heeseung grunted, barely holding on, his cock pulsing deep inside your spasming walls. “You want it, don’t you? Wanna be full of me.”

You nodded frantically, crying through it, too far gone to even speak, but he didn’t need words. Your body said everything, writhing under him, sucking him in deeper with every flutter.

“You want me to breed this pretty little pussy,” he moaned, hips stuttering. “First time and I’m already ruining you. Filling you up so good, baby—fuck, maybe I’ll get you pregnant. Maybe I’ll knock you up just like this, all messy and crying for me.”

You gasped, another twitch racing through you at his words. You were trembling, overstimulated, body arching under him even as your orgasm still echoed through your limbs.

“That's what you want, right?” he whispered, fucking you through it, each thrust slower but deeper, his cock twitching as was so close. “Want me to fuck a baby into you. Stuff you full. Claim you for real.”

His body hovered over yours, sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead, jaw clenched so tight it ticked as he fought to hold it together. His brows furrowed, lips parted on a low moan as he came, cock throbbing deep inside your spasming cunt.

You felt it, the thick, hot spill of his release, filling you to the brim, warm and endless. He gripped your thighs tighter, pulling your body closer, anchoring himself as he fucked it deeper with short, needy thrusts. His groan was guttural when he finally spilled, hot inside you, filling you so deep it burned. He held himself there, cock buried to the hilt, like he didn’t want to lose a single drop.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, shaking, breath ragged and broken.

“God,” he groaned, voice rasping, barely audible. “So fucking good. Gonna get you pregnant like this.”

His hands trembled slightly, not from nerves, but from restraint, like every muscle in his body was straining to keep control. Veins stood out on his arms, his chest heaving against yours, skin burning hot.

He looked down at you, and his eyes, blown wide, pupils dark and wild, were obsessed.

“Look at me,” he whispered, pushing your hair back with shaking fingers. “I want you to remember what I look like when I cum inside you for the first time.”

You blinked up at him through the blur of tears, vision filled with the flushed pink of his cheeks, the swollen red of his lips, the glint of sweat that made his collarbones shine in the low light.

His cock twitched again, still deep, still thick and hard even after filling you so completely.

He smiled, slow, dark, too pleased.

“Still clenching,” he murmured, shifting slightly. “You don’t want to let me go, do you?”

When he finally pulled back, a mix of slick and cum slipped out with a slow, wet sound, and his jaw locked again, nostrils flaring like it physically hurt him to see it.

“Fuck no,” he muttered, shoving it back in with two fingers, watching your face twist from overstimulation. “You’re keeping every drop. Gotta make sure it sticks.”

Then he leaned down, still panting, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” he whispered. “All mine. Full of me.”

You didn’t even notice you were crying again until Heeseung kissed the tears from your cheeks, slow and tender.

“Shh, baby,” he whispered, voice low and hoarse as he stroked your hair back. “You did so good for me. Took it all, didn’t you? My sweet girl.”

You could barely nod, body twitching beneath him, every inch of you overstimulated, messy, full. His arms wrapped around you carefully as he rolled the both of you onto your sides, cradling your body against his chest, your cunt pulsing, twitching, leaking all over his sheets.

Heeseung looked down and moaned.

“Fuck. Look at the mess we made,” he whispered against your temple, nuzzling close, not even trying to hide how obsessed he was. “All my cum dripping out of this perfect little pussy. Bet you can feel it, huh?”

You whimpered, still trembling, thighs too sore to close. He kissed the corner of your mouth.

“I know, baby. I know it’s a lot,” he murmured, brushing soft fingers down your side, slow and soothing. “I got you. I’ll clean you up.”

He reached for a towel nearby and gently started dabbing between your legs, but even then, he couldn’t help himself.

“God,” he muttered, watching your thighs twitch from the sensitivity. “You’re so ruined for me now.”

You blinked up at him, eyes still hazy and damp.

“You’ll never be the same again, angel,” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “Nobody’s ever gonna fuck you like that. Nobody’s gonna make you cry the way I do.”

You whimpered, and he smiled, soft and so proud.

“My good girl,” he praised, rubbing slow circles into your thigh with his free hand. “Took it all so sweet. You didn’t even know you could take that much, did you?”

You shook your head, burying your face in his neck as he chuckled and held you tighter.

“Yeah,” he breathed, kissing your temple again. “All mine now. Sweet little thing’s all used up and full of me. Gonna keep you that way.”

He tossed the towel aside once he was satisfied and pulled you into his chest completely, letting you rest against his body, warm and safe, even with the filth still heavy in his voice.

“You okay, baby?” he whispered softly, letting his hand run up and down your spine now, gentler.

You nodded, a soft hum escaping your lips.

You blinked up at him through heavy lashes, still glassy with leftover tears. You could barely speak, throat raw from moaning, from crying, from begging, but somehow the words came, a whisper barely audible.

“…thank you.”

Your voice was so small, so wrecked. But it was the way you said it, all soft and sweet, like you meant it with your whole heart. His eyes darkened again, slowly dragging over your face. The tears on your cheeks. The swollen lips. The ruined innocence.

His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth as he let out a shaky breath.

“Fuck, baby,” he muttered, eyes fluttering closed for a second like he was physically affected. “That’s the filthiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

You flushed, face hot against his skin.

He leaned in closer, kissed your temple, and whispered like a secret:

“My sweet girl… all ruined and grateful for it.”

His voice was shaking now too, not from arousal this time, but from something deeper, Possession, obsession.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

He pulled you closer, wrapping you up like you were something precious and fragile, even though you’d just let him break you completely. And you had. Your body still ached, sore and pulsing, filled and messy, but you’d never felt so full, or so safe.

“Thank you for letting me be your first,” he whispered finally. “And your last.”

Your eyelids fluttered shut as his warmth pulled you under. The ache in your thighs, the mess between your legs, the soreness blooming across your skin… none of it mattered. You were in Heeseung’s arms. Safe. Ruined. You weren’t sure if he loved you, maybe he did in his own dangerous way, you didn’t know what you were going to say to his sister tomorrow morning. 

It didn’t matter, you were his now. 

[pjmxtra]

HIS DOLL, HIS DREAM — nishimura riki

synopsis, riki is hopelessly in love with his petite, doll like girlfriend who turns every ordinary moment into a dream he never wants to wake up from.

paring, nishimura riki x female reader

setting, late spring in a peaceful city

genre, fluff, soft romance, established relationship

content warning, none that i can think of

word count, 834 words

perm taglist, send an ask to be added

Riki still couldn’t believe you were real.

You were sitting on his bed in that impossibly perfect way, tiny legs dangling just above the floor. The lace trim of your socks fluttered as you swung your feet, your soft skirt pooling like petals around you. A silky bow sat in your hair, the light pink one he liked most, and his hoodie hung off your frame like it had been made to wrap around you.

He stood by the door, arms folded, quietly admiring you.

Everything about you looked like a dream. From the little glint of gloss on your lips to the way your bangs fell just above your eyes. You were the kind of girl who made time feel slower. Softer. Better.

You looked up with those wide eyes, holding two ribbons between your fingers.

“Riki,” you said gently, “which one do you think looks better with this outfit?”

Your voice was as light as your steps. You always spoke to him like he was someone precious, even when you were just asking about ribbons.

Without a word, Riki crossed the room and knelt down in front of you. His eyes moved between the pink and the white ribbon before settling on the one in your left hand.

“This one,” he said, taking the pink ribbon carefully. “It matches your cheeks.”

You blinked, lips parting just slightly, caught off guard. He always said things like that. So simple, but they left your heart full.

“Are you sure?” you asked.

He leaned in a little, brushing your bangs out of the way. “I’m sure. But honestly, you’d still be the prettiest girl in the world even without a ribbon.”

You smiled shyly and pulled his hoodie sleeves over your hands. “You’re just saying that because you like me.”

“No,” he said quietly. “I’m saying it because you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He tied the ribbon into your hair as gently as he could. His fingers were big, and the bow came out a little crooked, but you didn’t say anything. You could feel how careful he was being. Like you were something fragile. Something treasured.

“There,” he said, sitting back on his heels. “Perfect.”

You reached out and took his hand, small fingers curling around his like always.

“I like when you look at me like that,” you whispered.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m special.”

Riki gave a quiet laugh under his breath and squeezed your hand.

“You are.”

And you believed him.

Because when he looked at you like that, you didn’t feel small or delicate or like you had to be perfect. You just felt loved.

⸻

The sky was turning gold as you walked beside him, the breeze carrying the scent of cherry blossoms through the quiet streets. You held his hand with both of yours, your little fingers curled around his much larger one, and his thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles every few seconds like he just needed to feel you there.

You wore a cream cardigan now, buttoned all the way up and trimmed with lace. Your skirt swayed with every step and your shoes clicked softly against the pavement. Riki kept glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable but his ears slightly pink.

It made you smile.

“You’re staring again,” you said softly.

“You noticed?” he said, not even trying to deny it. “I always do.”

You looked up at him and gave his hand a little squeeze. “Why?”

He shrugged a little, not because he didn’t know the answer, but because he wasn’t sure how to say it without sounding completely in love.

“You’re really pretty,” he said simply. “Even just walking.”

Before you could reply, you felt your shoe loosen, the strap slipping down at your ankle.

“Oh,” you whispered, stopping in your tracks and bending slightly to fix it.

But Riki was already kneeling down in front of you before you could reach.

“I’ve got it,” he murmured, his voice quiet and gentle like always.

You stood still, cheeks burning as he carefully fastened the little buckle on your mary jane. His fingers brushed against your sock, then your ankle, with the same delicacy he used when tying ribbons in your hair. His head was bowed, the strands of his dark hair falling over his forehead, and he looked up only once.

“You’re like a doll,” he said under his breath. “Seriously.”

You gave him a soft smile, letting your hand rest lightly on his shoulder as he stood back up.

“And you’re like a prince,” you whispered. “You always take care of me.”

He looked at you for a long second, his hand reaching up to brush your hair behind your ear. His eyes were warm and quiet and so full of something you couldn’t name.

“You’re easy to take care of,” he said. “Because you’re mine.”

And with that, he laced your fingers back into his and kept walking, as if that moment hadn’t just made your heart feel like it was wrapped in rose petals.

But that was just Riki.

He didn’t need big gestures. He didn’t need grand declarations.

He just needed a ribbon, a soft look, and your hand in his.

And that was more than enough.

© rik1sberry

[pjmxtra]

yearner ni-ki…

just him being so deeply in love and doesn’t know how to act around you and if he has a crush and it isn’t reciprocated he literally cries because he’s feeling too much, he takes his time, he’s terrified of ruining what you have, so he suffers in silence until it’s unbearable, until it slips out in a moment of vulnerability, maybe when he thinks he’s about to lose you. he doesn’t explode with feelings, he lets them burn low and long, like a candle.

he’s obsessed with you and just daydreams about kissing you and being your boyfriend and making you happy and—

yearner ni-ki. that’s the post <3

writing about yearner ni-ki right now ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

[pjmxtra]

needy baby ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

paring: 성훈 x fmr

warning: cnc! smut! reader is described as thin, size kink

You tossed and turned in bed. Too horny to let sleep take over. The ache between your thighs was maddening, and the cool brush of the sheets against your skin only made it worse. You were so worked up it hurt—your legs pressed tight together, your chest rising and falling sharply, ribs faintly visible under the cling of your tank top.

You wanted Sunghoon so badly it was getting in the way of everything—sleep, sanity, breath. You could feel him beside you. Big. Warm. Still.

There was only one way to fix this.

You shifted slowly, limbs light and sharp with angles, and peeled the thick blanket off your narrow frame. The tank top barely clung to your chest, the curve of your ribs showing with every breath. You looked like a whisper beside him—fragile, restless.

You crawled on top of him, moving carefully, your knees pressing down gently onto the mattress. You were so light he didn’t even stir. Your little shorts had ridden up, barely clinging to your ass now, the fabric caught high over your hips, thin thighs spread open as you straddled his lap.

Sunghoon slept peacefully beneath you, chest rising and falling with calm rhythm. His bare torso was broad and solid under your palms. You stared at him—gorgeous and unfairly still—his muscles relaxed, arms stretched at his sides. The size difference between you was absurd. His body made yours look like something fragile, breakable.

You bit your lip and rolled your hips forward, grinding gently against the bulge in his boxers. It was already there—thick, warm, pressing up against you. With every shift of your hips, you could feel it harden beneath you. You gasped quietly, the friction teasing your slick entrance through your thin clothes.

You let out a faint giggle, trembling. This was working. Your body—small, trembling, sharp in all the wrong ways—was driving him crazy, even in sleep.

Sliding down slightly, your fingers found the waistband of his boxers. Carefully, slowly, you pulled them down just enough—not wanting to wake him, not yet. His cock sprang free, thick and long and intimidating. It lay heavy against his stomach, and you stared.

It was huge. Your fingers, so small and thin, barely wrapped around him.

He groaned faintly in his sleep at the touch.

You spit into your hand and began to stroke him, coating him, soft and slow. Your chest rose and fell faster now. He was already twitching in your grip, warm and pulsing. And you were already so wet.

You crawled back up, straddling him once more, and positioned yourself over him. One hand held his cock, the other braced weakly on his chest. Your knees trembled as you lined up and sank down—inch by inch, his cock stretching you open.

A broken moan escaped your throat.

He filled you so deeply it felt like too much. Your tiny body was stretched to its limit, your narrow hips forced wide apart. You whimpered, fighting the urge to stop—fighting the burn that came with taking something so big in a body so tiny. But you needed this. You needed him.

Sunghoon stirred beneath you—just a little. A quiet, breathy moan left his lips. Still asleep.

Once you’d adjusted, you began to move—slow at first, bouncing on his cock with shaky, delicate motions. Your hands were pressed flat on his chest, trying to keep yourself upright as your thin thighs trembled with every drop. You could feel every ridge, every twitch. It was overwhelming, filling, perfect.

Your bones ached with every motion, your chest flushed, sweat slicking the skin over your shoulders. Your breathing turned ragged as your pace quickened. You were lost in the stretch, the fullness, the sound of slick skin and needy gasps. You didn’t even care if he woke up.

And then—A large hand suddenly wrapped around your waist, fingers digging deep into the softest part of your side, gripping tight enough to make you gasp.

You flinched. Your head snapped down—and met his gaze. Sunghoon was awake.

His voice came out rough and dark, laced with amusement. “Such a dirty girl.”

His hand slid up your side, over your ribs, and stopped just under your chest, fingers splayed over the fragile curve of you. You were shaking, eyes glassy, tears clinging to your lashes. Your lips were swollen, bitten raw. Your back arched instinctively.

He looked down at where your small body sat on his cock, trembling and wet.

“You really thought you could take me by yourself, huh?” he growled against your throat, his voice low, wicked. “Tiny little thing—thought you could ride this dick and not get wrecked?”

You moaned, helpless.

Sunghoon sat up and wrapped an arm around your back, pulling you flush against his chest. His mouth met your neck, biting hard enough to leave a mark. You cried out, cunt clenching around him.

“Guess I better help you finish what you started.”

And then he moved. He rose up, slammed you back down. Again. Again.

You cried out, the air knocked from your lungs. Your bones jolted with each bounce, the sound of skin slapping echoing through the room. He used you—lifted you, dropped you, fucked into you so hard it hurt. Your body bent easily in his grip, thin wrists clinging to his shoulders, your breath hitching every time his cock slammed home.

You sobbed against his neck, overwhelmed. Sunghoon kissed your tears. Smiled. And then kept going.

Your body trembled in his arms, shoulders rising and falling with every ragged breath. You clung to him with weak fingers, barely able to wrap your arms around his neck, your thin frame rocking with every brutal thrust.

Sunghoon held you like you weighed nothing.

You gasped as he fucked up into you again, your thighs shaking as your spine bowed under the pressure. Your knees were nearly slipping off his hips now, legs spread wide across his lap. Your hips were red from his grip, his fingertips leaving marks in your skin. He was relentless—grinding you down onto him so deep it felt like your body couldn’t take anymore.

But he wasn’t done.

Without warning, he wrapped his arms under your thighs and flipped you—your back hitting the mattress with a soft, breathless sound, the weight of your small frame barely disturbing the bed. He hovered over you now, his body massive, blocking out the dim light above. You looked up at him with wide, teary eyes, your collarbones sharp against the pillows, chest heaving.

Sunghoon took in the sight of you—stretched out, slick and shaking, your limbs spread beneath him, too thin to put up even the illusion of resistance.

“Look at you,” he murmured, almost reverent, as he reached down and grabbed your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head like it was nothing. “So fucking breakable.”

You whimpered, lips parted, unable to answer—your body already clenching around him as he slid back inside. You could barely breathe. He filled you completely, stretching your narrow hips wide again, deeper this time. The angle was brutal. Perfect. Your head fell back against the pillow, back arching sharply as he bottomed out.

“hoonie—” you gasped, voice cracking.

He leaned in close, his mouth brushing your ear. “Say it again.”

“h-hoonie.”

“Say who’s fucking so good.”

“You—hoon, it’s you—”

He groaned low and bit your shoulder, sucking bruises into the thin stretch of skin there. Your legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, but they barely reached. You were trembling, tears sliding down the sides of your face from how deep he was. Your back pressed into the bed, hands twitching in his grip.

And he loved it.

He watched you fall apart beneath him, fucked out and ruined, your tiny frame jerking with every thrust. You looked so helpless, so wrecked—thin thighs trembling, lips swollen, voice gone. All because of him.

“Made to take it,” he murmured, hips slamming into yours, sweat dripping down his neck. “No one else could fuck this body but me.”

You moaned—a broken, high sound. Your back arched again, trying to meet every thrust, but it was too much. You were too small, too overwhelmed. You didn’t even know if you were crying from the pain or the pleasure. Maybe both.

Your whole world was just him. His cock. His hands. His voice in your ear.

“G-Gonna cum,” you whimpered, choking on the words.

“Then cum on this dick, baby. Let me feel that tight little body shake.”

You shattered.

Your walls clamped down around him, eyes rolling back, hips shaking violently as the orgasm hit you like a wave. Sunghoon cursed under his breath, thrusting through it, dragging it out. You writhed beneath him, arms still pinned, voice breaking into sobs as you fell apart.

And still—he didn’t stop.

“Not done with you,” he growled, hips pounding harder. “Not ‘til I see you cry for real.”

You whimpered his name again, voice soft and desperate. “Please.”

[pjmxtra]

this is masterpiece. truly

party 4 you - nishimura riki 𓈒ིུ

✧˚⋆ ˖ ࣪ .

“In which reader bumps into her ex in a party, and suddenly all the heartbreak and feelings come to life again.”

Content: fem! reader x ni-ki, exes to lovers, cursing, a little bit of angst, a lot of emotions, suggestive but no smut, drinking, fluff, both ni-ki and reader are pretty criers lmao

Notes: party on you party on you party on party on you party on you part of you knew

hate comments will be deleted and blocked, likes and reblogs are appreciated !!

You stared at the glowing message on your phone screen for the third time that hour.

“It’s just a party, babe. You need this.”

Maybe you did. Or maybe you just needed to stop thinking about him.

Your finger hovered over the RSVP like it might burn you. You already knew he’d be there. Ni-ki always showed up to these things — along with his friends, like the social butterfly he was, charming everyone in the room like he didn’t carry a single piece of you in his pockets anymore.

You shifted in your bed, knees curled to your chest, blanket tucked under your chin like armor. The room was quiet, but your mind wasn’t. It hadn't been quiet in a long time, not since the day you left him standing in his living room, jaw clenched, eyes glassy, silence stretching between you like it could snap.

It had been a year.

A year of no texts. No accidental likes. No closure.

He wasn’t a stranger. That was what made it worse.

You’d known Nishimura Riki since you were fifteen. High school sweethearts — the kind people thought would get married someday. He walked you home when it rained, held your hand under the lunch table, memorized your coffee order before you even knew it yourself. He called you "his future" once — whispered it in your ear after prom, his mouth warm against your skin like a promise. You had spent years with him. Built routines and futures and secret traditions. Shared playlists and toothbrushes. Argued over which marvel movie was better and made up with forehead kisses on his bedroom floor.

He felt like home once, he was home to you. Your longest relationship, and your worst breakup.

You couldn’t even remember the last thing he said before the silence swallowed you whole. Something about needing space, something about how he was tired. Or maybe it was you who said it. You had both been tired, bruised from trying too hard to fix something that didn’t want to stay whole.

Still, loving him never stopped.

That was the part you couldn’t explain to anyone. How even now, a year later, the thought of bumping into him felt like pressing on a wound just to make sure it still hurt. How even now, you'd still dreamt about his hands, his smell, his smile, the way he teased you, the way he touched you, the way he made you feel.

“You’re not dressed,” your friend said from your doorway, arms crossed and eyes already rolling. “Don’t make me drag you out of bed.”

You blinked up at her, biting your lip, unsure.

“I don’t know if I should go.”

She sighed, walking in and tossing something slinky and black onto your sheets.

“You should. You need to. It’s been a year. You might not even see him, the house is huge.”

You nodded like you believed her. It was true, in part, Jake's house was really big and it would probably be packed of people from all campus, but still, the universe had a history of being cruel to you. And if you even got a sight of Ni-ki you didn't know how you would react, the thought only made your stomach twist.

She disappeared to finish getting ready, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You looked at yourself in the mirror and didn’t recognize the girl staring back. She was a little older now. A little more tired. A little less hopeful.

Some part of you wanted to see him.

Even if it was just to know he still existed in the same world as you.

You pulled on the dress. Did your makeup with shaky fingers. Told yourself this was just another night. Just another party.

The house was loud. Too loud.

Bass thumped through the walls, vibrating in your ribs as you stepped past the threshold, eyes already scanning the crowd on instinct. Your friend disappeared within minutes, swallowed by music, bodies, and a red solo cup. You didn’t follow her. You couldn’t.

You hovered near the kitchen instead, fingers wrapped tightly around a half-melted drink, heart beating too fast for someone standing still.

It smelled like perfume, sweat, and faint memories.

This was his best friend's house, every corner of the place felt like a landmine. The hallway where he used to press you against the wall, kissing you breathless. The back porch where he once told you, “I’ve never loved anyone this much.” The upstairs bathroom door, still chipped from the time you had a stupid argument and he accidentally slammed it shut too hard and came back ten minutes later with a shaky apology and a bag of gummy bears.

You should’ve left. You still could.

But your friends were right, you needed this. Not only for him, but for yourself, to prove yourself that you could live with this, that someday, it would all pass.

The music thumped, deep and heavy, reverberating through the floor and vibrating in your chest as you moved around the house. The party was in full swing now — people laughing, dancing, talking in tight groups. It should have been easy to get lost in the noise. To forget. To let yourself feel something that wasn’t this heavy, suffocating ache.

But it wasn’t easy.

Your friend, Rei, pulled you toward the kitchen with a grin, passing a new drink into your hand as if it was supposed to fix everything.

"You’re not going to stand around looking like a ghost all night, right?"

“Just… let me be, okay?” you muttered, forcing a smile, hoping it was convincing.

Rei didn’t seem to buy it but didn’t push either.

"Alright, alright. Just don’t go hiding in a corner again. Let’s at least pretend we’re having fun tonight."

You let yourself be dragged, but your heart wasn’t in it. You tried to lose yourself in the beat, in the movement, in the rhythm of the crowd. You swayed your hips, let your hands move through the air, pretending you weren't still thinking about him, about the inevitable.

But just as you turned to keep doing exactly that, you froze.

He was there.

Ni-ki.

Across the room, laughing at something someone said. Cup in hand. The same silver chain resting at the base of his throat — the one you gave him for your anniversary. He looked good, too good. Taller, maybe. A little broader. His hair was black now, you always used to tell him that was your favorite color on him, it was a bit shorter too. Like time had been kind to him while it only made you softer around the edges. He looked different, but it was still him. The boy who had loved you with everything he had. The boy who had torn your heart out when it all crumbled.

Your breath caught in your throat. He hadn’t seen you yet. But you saw him. And everything inside you went still.

It wasn’t dramatic. No slow-motion moment. No spotlight cutting through the dark. He didn’t even look in your direction. He was just… there, across the room, half-shadowed by the gold-tinted lights strung across the ceiling.

You turned your back to him and forced yourself to laugh at something your friend said. You fixed the strap of your dress. Took another sip of your drink. You focused on the ice melting between your fingers, the way it stung just enough to distract you.

You didn’t dare look again.

But you felt him.

Like gravity. Like pressure in your chest that hadn’t existed moments ago.

You tried to play it cool, smile the way you used to before everything fell apart. You leaned against the counter like you belonged here. Like you weren't unraveling slowly beneath the surface. You kept telling yourself you wouldn’t look. That he didn’t matter anymore. That the ache in your chest was just old muscle memory.

But then a familiar laugh floated across the room, his laugh, and it cracked something open inside you.

You knew that sound. You used to be the reason for it.

Your breath hitched.

A hand brushed your arm, pulling you back into the moment, asking if you were okay. You nodded too quickly, smiled too wide.

“Just gonna… find the bathroom,” you said, your voice too light. “Be right back.”

You didn’t glance back as you slipped down the hallway, heart pounding like you'd just run a race.

You hated that you still felt this way.

That after everything — after all the nights you'd forced yourself not to cry, after pretending for so long that you were okay — seeing him for five seconds could still shake you to your core.

You took a deep breath. Then another.

You’re fine, you told yourself. It’s just a party. It’s just a boy. You don’t love him anymore.

The apartment was cold — painfully so.

A stillness had crept in like a fog, dense and unmoving, wrapping around your chest until breathing started to feel like effort. You sat on one end of the couch, legs folded beneath you, cradling a mug that had long since gone cold. Across from you, Ni-ki sat with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it held some kind of answer.

You just had an argument, the third that week, and it was only thursday. It had been like this for months, he was distant, you were sensitive, it didn't feel the same anymore, and you knew he was avoiding talking about it, but you also knew he felt it too. He responded late, he stood in the field practicing more than he should've, he made excuses for your weekly dates. And you, you were always defensive, mean even, you didn't ask him anymore about his practice, you didn't even go to his last game.

The silence had already said everything.

But you broke it. Your voice came out cracked, barely above a whisper.

“We’re not okay, are we?”

He didn’t look up. Just clenched his hands together a little tighter, eyes fixed on the carpet. After a moment, he gave the smallest shake of his head.

“No.”

That one word still managed to sting more than you'd expected.

You nodded slowly, not because you accepted it, but because you’d known. You’d known for a while now, in the way his touches had grown hesitant, in the tired tone of his voice, in the endless nights where you both turned away in bed instead of toward each other.

“I thought love would be enough,” you whispered.

“I did too,” he said. And it sounded like regret. Not the sharp kind — the quiet kind that eats away at you, slowly.

You looked at him then. The dark circles under his eyes. The tension in his shoulders. The way his mouth was pressed in a hard line, like he was holding something in.

“Do you still love me?”

The question left your mouth before you could stop it.

His head finally lifted, and his eyes met yours.

“God, I love you so much it makes me feel sick sometimes.”

You let out a soft, hollow laugh. He was like this, even in these moments, he made you laugh. And that made the pain even worse.

“Then why does it still feel like we’re losing each other?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“Because loving each other isn’t fixing us anymore.”

That broke something inside you. Not in a dramatic, shattering way. Just a slow, internal collapse. A piece of your chest folding in on itself.

“So what do we do?” you asked.

He stood, slowly, like the weight of the moment made his movements heavier, and crossed the room. When he sank to the floor in front of you, kneeling like he used to when you’d come home upset from school or work, it almost felt like the past was reaching for you.

Almost.

“We let go,” he whispered. “Before we ruin the good we had.”

You blinked hard. Your throat burned.

“I don’t want to let go of you.”

“I don’t want to either,” he admitted, and his voice was shaking now. “But I think we have to.”

You put the mug down, and slid off the couch to the floor beside him. His hands were there, right in front of you, shaking. You reached for them — familiar, warm, still his — and he didn’t pull away.

“I thought we’d be forever,” you said.

“We were, for a while,” he murmured. “We grew up together. We made each other who we are. But maybe we can’t carry each other anymore.”

Tears finally spilled down your cheeks. Quiet. Steady.

“I don’t hate you,” you whispered. “Even after this.”

“Don’t say that,” he replied, voice cracking. “You’re making this harder.”

“It’s already hard.”

You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. His hands gripped yours like lifelines. You both sat there, shaking and quiet, breathing the same air like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“I’ll love you for the rest of my life,” you whispered.

He didn’t say it back.

Not out loud.

Because if he had, if he gave that truth shape, neither of you would’ve had the strength to end it.

Eventually, you pulled back. Stood up. Grabbed your bag with trembling fingers. You pressed a kiss to his cheek, so soft it barely lingered, and you whispered goodbye.

Then you walked out.

And the door closed.

You didn’t look back.

You couldn’t.

And inside that quiet apartment, Ni-ki stayed exactly where you left him — knees to the floor, hands clenched tight, eyes fixed on nothing at all.

He didn’t cry.

Ni-ki told himself he was fine.

He smiled at the jokes, laughed at the right moments, nodded along as his friends passed around drinks and shouted over the music like the world was still spinning normally. He told himself this was what he needed — noise, people, distractions. He hadn’t been to a party like this in a long time. Maybe not since… well. Since you.

He even tried to date other girls, a lot of them, but it never worked, it didn't feel right.

And yeah, maybe his chest felt a little tight when he walked through the door and remembered that you might be here too. But the house was big. There were too many rooms, too many bodies. He could avoid you.

He could be normal.

So he leaned into the chaos. Let himself be pulled into a circle of friends, let Jake drape a lazy arm around his shoulders. He threw back a drink even though it didn’t taste like anything. His cheeks flushed from the heat of the room, from the music vibrating under his shoes, from the lie in his throat that kept repeating: I’m over it. I’m over her.

You hadn’t spoken in a year. A whole year. You’d both agreed, it was mutual. Grown-up, mature, clean, at least on the outside.

He never told anyone how many times he almost texted you. How many times he saw your old hoodie in the back of his closet and sat on the floor for hours, just holding it. How he couldn't had been able to delete your pictures from his phone, how he still heard your voice, your laughter, how even when some nights his friends insisted to him to find a casual hookup, he still wished the girl he kissed was you instead, how he missed your skin, your smell, everything.

And now here he was, dancing, joking, breathing. Existing without you.

He was fine.

Until he saw you.

You were across the room, bathed in purple lights, laughing at something your friend said. You moved with the music in that way you always did — like you weren’t thinking about it, like it was just instinct. Your body knew rhythm like your heart used to know his.

You looked beautiful.

You always did. But tonight you looked like you’d healed. Like you’d finally started to live again. And maybe you had. Maybe you had moved on. Maybe that smile was real. Maybe your shoulders weren’t heavy with memories anymore.

And Ni-ki’s heart twisted violently in his chest.

The room blurred around you, sound dampened by the roar in his ears. That lie in his throat, the one he’d been chanting all night — I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine — suddenly felt so small. So pathetic.

Because the truth was: seeing you, dancing like you’d never broken, like he wasn’t still holding pieces of you deep inside his ribs… it made him ache.

So he swallowed hard, turned his face away, and tried to laugh again at whatever joke his friend made.

But it didn’t convince this time.

You weren’t even sure how you ended up in the bathroom without passing out. One minute you were clutching your drink too tightly, laughing with your friend, pretending not to feel the way you were feeling just from seeing him. And the next, your legs were moving on their own, taking you down the hallway, slipping into the first open door you could find.

You exhaled sharply, fingers trembling as you tried to breathe past the knot in your throat. You didn’t want to cry. You hadn’t cried in months. Not since the night you left his apartment and didn’t look back.

You told yourself you were over it. That time had dulled the edges. That the ache had turned into something distant, something manageable.

But then you saw him tonight. 

Even if just for a second.

And suddenly everything hurt again.

Your reflection stared back at you in the mirror — all mascara, glossed lips, and shaky composure. You looked pretty. You looked hot. You looked like you were doing okay. And somehow that made it worse.

Because underneath it, you weren’t okay at all.

Not with the music thumping downstairs. Not with the memory of his eyes on you. Not with the echo of his voice in your head — low, soft, saying your name the way no one else ever had. Not with that ugly, dirty, pain that was creeping inside of your chest.

Your breath caught. You squeezed your eyes shut.

God, just stop. Get it together.

But it was already too late.

A sob tore through your chest, sudden and violent, catching you off guard.

And then you were sinking to the edge of the tub, hands covering your face, shoulders trembling as everything you’d kept buried clawed its way out. The kind of crying that didn’t come with neat tears, this was messy, raw, gasping for air.

The pain, the longing, the regret, it all spilled out at once.

You missed him.

You missed the way things used to be — late-night phone calls, tangled limbs on lazy mornings, the way he knew you without words. You missed his teasing, his laugh, the way he looked at you, the way he kissed you. You missed how you two owned every room you walked into, because everybody said how powerful you looked together, and he would always smile proudly and kiss your cheek. You missed your best friend. You missed feeling understood.

And you hated that you still wanted him.

You hated that even now, after all the silence, he still had this power over you.

“…Y/N?”

His voice made your stomach drop.

For a moment, all you could hear was the thudding of the music through the floor and the sound of your own uneven breathing. Then slowly, you looked up, eyes still glassy and lashes wet, and there he was — standing in the doorway like a ghost you hadn’t meant to summon.

Ni-ki.

Your heart lurched painfully in your chest.

He looked startled, like he hadn’t meant to walk in, like he was just looking for a break from the noise and accidentally stepped straight into a minefield. His hand stayed on the door, fingers curled tightly around the handle as if ready to bolt.

His eyes flicked across the room, the light still on, your body slumped near the tub, the flush on your cheeks that had nothing to do with alcohol.

“Oh—shit,” he stammered. "Sorry, i didn’t know anyone was in here.”

You flinched, quickly turning your face away, swiping at your cheeks in a panic. You couldn't let him see you like this, not when this was literally the first time he saw you in a year.

“It’s—fine. Whatever. Just go.”

You couldn’t even look at him.

He didn’t move. And then he noticed.

He noticed the trembling of your hands, the uneven rise and fall of your chest, the way your eyes were rimmed red and glassy — not from drinking. Not even close.

“Are you…” His voice softened, but it cracked at the end. “Are you crying?”

“No,” you bit out too fast, scrambling to stand up. You faced the mirror instead of him, avoiding your own reflection just as much. “I’m just...drunk. That’s all. I’m fine.”

You reached for a paper towel, wiping under your eyes as if you could erase everything, the tears, the pain, the year that had cracked you open and left you raw. You didn’t want him to see this. Not like this. Not when you’d worked so hard to pretend like you were okay.

God, this was the worst-case scenario. Out of all the people to see you like this, it had to be him.

He didn’t move. He just stood there in the doorway, looking at you like he didn’t believe a single word coming out of your mouth.

You hated that.

You hated how well he still knew you.

“You’re not drunk,” he said quietly.

“Yes, I am.” You let out a shaky, fake laugh, pushing your hair back. “I’m totally wasted. That drink was—like, way too strong.”

“Y/N.”

You looked up.

His eyes met yours — soft, hesitant, breaking at the edges. You felt it like a wave crashing over both of you. The weight of everything unsaid. The months of silence. The way this bathroom felt like the only place in the world right now.

You swallowed hard, backing up a step toward the sink.

His brows were drawn together, his mouth parted, unsure. You hated how much you still remembered the way that mouth felt on your skin. You hated that even now, with all this space between you, his presence still made your stomach twist and your heart ache in places you swore had healed.

“I said I’m fine,” you lied again, sharper this time, but your voice shook at the edges, betraying you.

And still, he didn’t leave. Instead, Ni-ki stepped fully into the room and quietly shut the door behind him.

You blinked.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, and for a second, something flickered across his face — panic, maybe. Or guilt. “I just… I couldn’t walk away. Not when you’re like this.”

The silence after that was suffocating.

You stood facing the mirror, gripping the edge of the sink, your knuckles white. You felt him behind you. Close. Not touching, but there. And suddenly it was all too much — the scent of his cologne that hadn’t changed, the gentle thud of the music behind the walls, the ghost of his name still ringing in your chest.

“I didn’t want to see you tonight,” you whispered. 

“I know,” he said, barely audible. “Me neither.”

You felt him take another step forward, slow and hesitant, like he was afraid you might break again if he came too close, and you flinched slightly, tears starting to fall again down your cheeks, you wiped them fast as he talked again, his voice was barely a breath.

“Y/N… can I—?”

“No,” you said sharply, pulling away before he could reach you.

His hand hovered uselessly in the air for a moment before falling back to his side. You couldn’t even look at him now. You were afraid if you did, you’d fall apart all over again. And you knew he hated to see you like this, because he hated when you cried, but he hated even more when he knew he was the reason.

“I’m just trying to—”

“To what, Ni-ki?” you snapped, your voice brittle. “Make me feel better? Fix it? You can’t. You can’t just walk in here after a year and—what—play concerned ex-boyfriend while I’m falling apart?”

“I never stopped caring about you,” he said quietly, and it hurt more than you thought it would.

The silence between you stretched like a tight wire, humming with everything unsaid. You could feel him watching you, not just with his eyes, but with everything in him, like he didn’t know whether to reach out or run.

You knew you should just walk away, but you couldn't. It was too much, too much and you needed to say it, for once and for all. Because it wasn't the breakup itself, it was the fact that, after months of distance from him, he still let you walk away that day, he still didn't fight, he still didn't care.

You tried to keep your breathing steady, tried to blink away the burning in your eyes. But the second you opened your mouth, your voice trembled.

“You let me walk away.”

Ni-ki froze.

Your throat closed up. You swallowed hard, your chest aching, your hands shaking, the memory of that day a year ago still fresh and burning in your mind.

“I waited for you. For a day. A week. A month. I kept thinking you’d come back. That you’d knock on my door. Say you changed your mind. But you didn’t.”

He stepped forward, but you held up a hand — not touching him, just keeping him at that same unbearable distance. Close enough to feel, but not to hold.

“You didn’t even try, Ni-ki,” you whispered. “You didn’t chase me. You didn’t stop me that night. I was waiting for you to say something, anything, to make me stay.”

He looked gutted.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he said, his voice breaking like glass. “I was scared I’d say the wrong thing again.”

“So you said nothing?” you snapped. “You let everything we built just… end? We were together for years. Since we were kids. I loved you so much it scared me. And when things got hard, I thought we were supposed to fight for each other. I thought you would fight for me.”

He opened his mouth, closed it again. His eyes were shining now.

“I wanted to,” he rasped. “You think I didn’t want to? Every night, I would stare at my phone. I’d go to your street and just sit there, not knowing if I’d have the courage to knock.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I thought I broke you,” he said, his voice cracking fully now. “I thought I wasn’t enough. And I knew you deserved better than a guy who kept shutting down. Who didn’t know how to fix things without making it worse.”

You blinked, a tear slipping free.

“I didn’t need you to fix everything. I needed you to try. I was willing to hold on through anything. But you let go first.”

He looked like he couldn’t breathe. His chest was rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

“I punished myself every day for that.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The ache in your chest was growing too loud to speak over.

“I still dream about it,” he whispered. “The way you looked at me before you left. You were waiting for me to stop you. And I just stood there, like a coward. I should’ve said something. I should’ve begged.”

You let out a broken sound — something between a sob and a laugh.

“I kept wondering if you ever missed me,” you said. “If you were out there forgetting me while I was remembering every piece of you. I would’ve taken you back, you know. Even after everything. You just had to say you wanted me.”

Ni-ki took another step toward you, slower this time. His eyes were glassy, a tear slipping down his cheek, unbothered and unhidden.

“I never stopped wanting you.”

His voice was hoarse, strangled, like it cost him everything to say it.

“I just didn’t think I deserved you anymore.”

The words knocked the air out of your lungs.

“Then you never really knew me,” you whispered, eyes blurring. “Because I wasn’t asking you to be perfect. I just needed you to be there. To not give up on me.”

He let out a soft, broken sound and finally, finally his face cracked. His shoulders curled inward like they were folding under the weight of everything he’d buried, and the tears came hard now, slipping past his lashes in streaks down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve fought. I should’ve followed you that night. I was scared and selfish and so, so wrong—”

You covered your mouth with your hand, a sob ripping through you as your body shook.

The bathroom felt too small for the pain in both your chests.

Ni-ki took one more step, close now, barely a breath away, but still not touching you. His hands hovered, trembling at his sides.

“I never stopped loving you,” he whispered. “I just didn’t know how to hold on without breaking you more.”

You shook your head, tears running freely now.

“You broke me because you let go.”

Neither of you moved. Neither of you looked away.

And there it was — both of you standing in the ruins of what could’ve been, hearts cracked wide open, trying to figure out if love was still enough.

For a moment, the only sound in the bathroom was your breathing — shallow, uneven — and Ni-ki’s quiet sniffle as he dragged the back of his hand under his nose. The silence didn’t feel awkward anymore. It felt sacred. Heavy. Like you were standing in the middle of something fragile and precious, even if it was painful.

You looked up at him, and god, he looked beautiful in the saddest way possible.

His dark lashes were damp, clumped together from tears. His eyes were glassy, swollen around the edges, and red like he’d been holding everything in for too long. A tear still lingered on his cheekbone, catching the light, and his lips were parted just slightly — like he wanted to say something but couldn’t trust his voice not to crack again. His hair was a little messy, falling into his eyes, and his chest rose and fell like every breath physically hurt.

You had never seen him like this. And still, even with tear tracks down his face and his hands trembling, he was heartbreakingly beautiful. He always had been. Even more so now, undone like this, human, soft, real.

And then his eyes met yours again.

You felt the burn of emotion rise again in your chest as you realized how you must’ve looked — mascara smudged under your eyes, lips swollen from biting down to stop yourself from sobbing, your dress wrinkled where your hands had clutched it too tightly. Your cheeks were damp, and your nose was red, and your shoulders shook with every shaky inhale.

But Ni-ki looked at you like you were still the only person in the world.

Like you hadn’t changed at all, like you were still his.

His gaze dragged over your features slowly, memorizing them like he hadn’t been doing that all night from afar.

“You’re still so…” he started, but the words caught in his throat. His voice cracked, softer this time. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

It was breathless. Honest. And it shattered something deep in your chest.

You let out a shaky breath, your bottom lip trembling.

“You too,” you whispered.

And somehow, even though you were both crying — both a mess, standing there in your sadness — you’d never looked at each other with more love.

Tears rolled silently down Ni-ki’s cheeks again, but he didn’t look away. Neither did you.

It was like time froze for a second. Just long enough to remember: this was the same boy you used to wake up next to, who used to trace your face with the tip of his finger just because he liked how you looked in the morning. And you were the same girl who used to kiss him just because he blinked too slowly when he was tired.

You were still them. Maybe older. Maybe a little more broken. But still you.

And god, even now, even in this , you were beautiful to each other.

He stepped forward.

You didn’t move. You should have — should’ve stepped back, should’ve put space between you, should’ve remembered that there were reasons why you’d walked away in the first place. But your feet stayed rooted, breath caught in your throat as his hand hovered just beside your face. Not touching, just waiting.

You could feel the warmth of his palm in the air, trembling.

And when his eyes dropped to your lips for just a second, you whispered, barely a sound, almost a breath.

“Ni-ki…”

“I know,” he said softly. “You don’t have to… I just—” His voice cracked again. “I missed you so much it fucking ruined me. I haven't seen you in a year, and i missed you.”

Your chest squeezed.

“I missed your voice,” he whispered, inching closer, heart in his throat. “Your laugh. Your hands. Your body. I couldn’t touch anyone else — I couldn’t even look at anyone else without seeing you.”

A whimper broke from your throat before you could stop it.

Your hands found his chest, not to pull him closer — not yet — but to push. You pressed against him with weak palms, shaking your head even as your tears fell faster.

“No,” you murmured. “This is a bad idea. We're in the bathroom and we're—”

“—not over each other,” he finished, voice shaking. “And we both know it.”

You opened your mouth, but he was already leaning in, slow, giving you every second to stop him. And still, you didn’t move. You wanted to push him away — your fingers flexed against his chest, trying, pleading with yourself — but the second his lips brushed yours, all of that fight melted into ache.

You gasped. And in that gasp, something in you broke.

You leaned in.

The kiss was nothing like how you remembered it — not soft, not sweet. It was hungry. Shaky. A collision of breath and tears and aching mouths trying to say everything they never got to. His hands cupped your jaw like you’d slip away if he let go. You gripped his shirt with trembling fists, pulling him closer until your bodies were flush, and your kiss deepened with a sob caught between your teeth.

You could taste the salt of your tears. His too.

You kissed him like you needed it to breathe. He kissed you like he never thought he’d get to again.

It was clumsy, noses bumping, lips trembling. He sighed into your mouth when your hands slid into his hair, and you felt him shudder as you pressed closer. The kiss felt like a cry, like mourning, like longing, like every what if that had haunted you since that night.

When you finally pulled away, barely a breath between you, his forehead dropped to yours.

Neither of you said anything.

Your tears had stopped, but your eyes still burned. His thumbs brushed your cheeks, tender, reverent, like he didn’t know how to hold you anymore but was desperate to remember.

Your breathing was still shaky, but his lips were still so close, warm, trembling, parted like he was caught between apology and need. His hands hadn’t left your face, his thumb still brushing over your cheek, tender like he was scared you’d disappear if he touched you too hard.

But when your eyes fluttered open and met his again, something shifted.

You didn’t know who leaned in first. Maybe it was you. Maybe it was him. But suddenly, your mouths collided again, harder this time, not rushed, but desperate. Desperate to feel something real. To drown in it. To let it hurt and heal at the same time.

This kiss wasn’t careful.

His hand slipped into your hair, gripping gently but firmly, angling your face to deepen it. Your fingers clutched his shoulders, sliding around his neck, dragging him impossibly closer as you parted your lips for him. And when his tongue brushed yours — soft, tentative, like he didn’t want to push too far too fast — you whimpered into his mouth, and he groaned quietly like the sound broke something inside him.

He tasted like salt and need, like everything you missed.

Your bodies pressed flush, your chest heaving against his, his fingers trailing down to your waist where they held you like he couldn’t bear to let go again. You tilted your head, kissing him deeper, slower, your hips shifting just slightly and making him suck in a sharp breath.

“God,” he whispered against your lips, voice wrecked. “You still feel the same.”

You didn’t reply. You didn’t need to.

The way your nails grazed the back of his neck, the way your mouth clung to his like it was the last thing tethering you to the earth, it said everything.

Ni-ki’s kisses turned rougher with every second — still emotional, still laced with that aching kind of sadness, but growing hotter, heavier. He kissed you like he didn’t know where to put all of his grief, like this was the only way to survive it. And you gave into it just the same, kissed him with all the pain you never let yourself feel, every soft thing you buried just to get through the days without him.

Your tears had dried, but the emotion was still there, in the way you gasped when his teeth grazed your bottom lip, in the quiet moan you choked down when his hand gripped your waist tighter.

It wasn’t just a kiss.

It was everything you hadn’t said. Everything you’d swallowed. Every lonely night. Every almost-text. Every time you saw his name and looked away.

And for the first time in a year, you felt alive.

When you finally pulled back, gasping for air, his forehead dropped against yours again, both of you dizzy and breathless.

He was staring at you like you were a miracle.

His hands roamed gently, tracing over your back like he was trying to relearn you with his palms — not rushing, not pushing, just feeling. Every inch he touched sent warmth spreading through your skin, not from lust, but from the way it was him. The only person who ever made you feel this full and this fragile at once.

Your mouths found each other again, slower now, deeper, like you were sinking into him, like the ache wasn’t enough unless it lingered.

He kissed down the corner of your mouth, over your jaw, his lips brushing your skin like a secret. Your breath hitched when he reached the spot just beneath your ear, his voice low and raw, full of things he hadn’t dared say before now.

“I used to dream about this,” he murmured, lips brushing your skin with every word. “Touching you again. Kissing you like this. You have no idea what it did to me—wanting you and not being allowed to have you.”

You shivered under his touch, fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer. He kissed your neck, just once, slow and hot, then dragged his lips back to yours, softer this time, but no less desperate.

“You’re still the prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered against your mouth. “Even when you’re crying.”

You let out a sound between a laugh and a sob, kissing him harder just to shut him up, because your heart couldn’t take it.

“You were always mine,” he breathed, kissing you again. “Even when I had to pretend you weren’t.”

His hands gripped your waist now, sliding beneath your dress just resting there, his thumbs stroking your skin lightly, reverently.

“I missed your skin,” he said, voice ragged. “Missed the way you’d melt the second I touched you. Missed the way you’d whisper my name.”

You pulled back, just an inch, just enough to breathe, just enough to look at him. His eyes were glassy, lips red and swollen, and he looked like a boy on the edge of a cliff, waiting for you to tell him whether to jump or step back.

“I’m not drunk,” you whispered, as if admitting it made it more real. “I know what this is.”

“So do I,” he replied softly. “I’m not touching you because I’m drunk. I’m touching you because I still love you.”

And then he kissed you again, deep, slow, filled with everything he couldn’t say all at once. His hand slid up your back, the other cupping your jaw like you were made of glass and he was terrified of breaking you. But he needed to hold you — to feel you — to convince himself this wasn’t another dream.

Every brush of his fingers was light, meaningful, the kind of touch that said he remembered everything. The way you liked to be held. The spots that made you breathe harder. The pace that made your knees weak.

His lips returned to your ear, voice so low it barely reached over the sound of your own heartbeat.

“I want to make you feel good again,” he whispered. “Like I used to. Just… let me have you for a little while.”

You shivered, but not from the cold.

Because you already had.

You never stopped being his.

[pjmxtra]

over power! ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

paring: 니키 x fmr!

Warning: Smut! Reader is described as fragile, easy to break, reade has itty bitty titties •͈ᴗ⁃͈⊹ size kink, big dick riki

an: before any more people ask if I stole the fic I did not!! It was my old account l0vely4ly! I got t worded so went back to this account! Idk how to prove it but I have the other 2 fics I posted and will be posting them on here for you guys to enjoy! Mwah

The air between you was thick with tension, your close proximity only making it worse. Your breath came in quick, uneven puffs, but you refused to let it show that he had any effect on you. A teasing chuckle slipped past your lips as you tightened your grip around Riki’s wrists, straddling him with all the confidence you could muster. His broad frame lay beneath you, his toned arms flexing under your hold, but you pretended not to notice. Instead, you tilted your head, a smug grin pulling at your lips.

“See? I’m so much stronger than you,” you taunted, sticking your tongue out playfully as you wiggled your hips in victory. A low, almost imperceptible groan rumbled from Riki’s chest, his dark eyes flashing with something unreadable. He rolled his eyes at your childish display, yet the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips told you he was enjoying this just as much as you were.

“Whatever,” he drawled, his voice dripping with amusement. “I let you win, you know that, right?” His cocky expression made your nose scrunch in irritation. Huffing, you retorted, “No, I won fair and squa—”

Before you could even finish your sentence, the world tilted. In a blur, Riki’s wrists twisted out of your grip with ease, and in one swift movement, he flipped you onto your back. A startled gasp left your lips as your body met the plush mattress, the air momentarily knocked from your lungs. Your hands instinctively reached out to push him off, but it was useless—he was already caging your wrists above your head, his fingers wrapping around them with little effort.

Your heartbeat stuttered, your body suddenly feeling so much smaller beneath him. Riki loomed over you, his frame casting a shadow over yours, his weight effortlessly pinning you down. His long fingers, once restrained, now held you in place as if you were nothing more than a plaything in his grasp. His expression was unreadable, but there was an undeniable flicker of satisfaction in his darkened gaze as he took in the sight of you beneath him—wide-eyed, breathless, utterly at his mercy.

“Fair and square, huh?” His voice was a deep murmur, laced with amusement as he dipped his face closer to yours. His lips curled into a smirk, his head tilting as he studied your expression.

You fluttered your lashes, still trying to recover from how easily he’d turned the tables on you. The power dynamic had shifted so suddenly, so effortlessly, that it sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re a cheater,” you whispered, brows furrowed, a pout settling on your lips.

Riki only chuckled, his grip tightening slightly as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your skin. “Am i?” he murmured, his voice dangerously smooth.

You writhed beneath him, stubbornly refusing to accept defeat even as your strength dwindled against his grip. Your breath hitched as you twisted your wrists, but it was useless—Riki was bigger, stronger, and effortlessly holding you in place. A frustrated sigh left your lips, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “Let me go,” you whined, a last-ditch attempt at regaining control. “I already won, cheater.”

Riki only chuckled, low and mocking, his head tilting as he looked down at you like you were nothing more than an amusing little thing beneath him. His fingers flexed around your wrists, pressing them deeper into the mattress, his weight keeping you trapped beneath him. “No can do, pretty,” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement. “I like it this way.”

A shiver ran down your spine as one of his hands moved, trailing down to the hem of your oversized shirt—his shirt. The fabric bunched beneath his fingertips, and your breath quickened, panic and anticipation tangling into something dangerous. His other hand remained wrapped around your wrist, keeping you caged, helpless, completely at his mercy.

“Riki,” you whimpered, jutting out your bottom lip in a weak attempt at garnering sympathy. “This isn’t fair.” His dark eyes locked onto yours, sharp and unyielding, amusement dancing within them as he took in the sight of you—pinned, squirming, utterly powerless. You swallowed hard.

He looked like a predator toying with his prey, dragging the moment out just to watch you suffer.

His lips curled into a smirk as he leaned in, his breath ghosting along the shell of your ear. The heat of him was suffocating, and then— “Yeah? What’s a pathetic little slut like you gonna do about it?”

A sharp gasp left your lips, the crude words sending a jolt through your body. Your thighs pressed together involuntarily, seeking friction, seeking anything, and Riki noticed immediately. His gaze flickered downward, catching the desperate movement, and his large hand landed firmly on the curve of your thigh. His fingers dug in, gripping.

You whimpered at the degradation, your body betraying you, heat pooling in your core. Riki chuckled at the sound, at how easily you crumbled under his touch. He shifted, his lips dragging along the curve of your neck, leaving teasing, feather-light kisses that had you trembling. You squirmed, another weak attempt at pulling away, but it only made him tighten his grip.

His hand moved to your face, his fingers tracing the shape of your cheek with deceptive gentleness. And then, without warning, he tilted your chin up and crashed his lips against yours, rough and eager. The force of it stole the air from your lungs, and when his hand came down on your thigh in a sharp slap, you gasped, giving him the perfect opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth.

The sounds that filled the space between you—breathless whimpers, the slick slide of lips, the faint rustle of sheets—only added to your growing desperation. When you finally managed to push him back, a thin string of saliva connected your lips, and your chest heaved as you stared up at him, pupils blown wide with need.

Riki watched, eyes dark, unreadable. Then, slowly, a wicked grin spread across his lips. “Pathetic,” he mused, his voice dripping with satisfaction. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when you were so wet for him.

He let go of your wrist, and your arm dropped limply above your head, the skin flushed where his fingers had gripped you too tightly.

Riki leans back against the headboard, his long legs stretching out effortlessly. He watches you with hooded eyes, dark and hungry, his fingers tapping against his thigh—a silent command.

Without hesitation, you crawl toward him, the sharp edges of your collarbones shifting beneath your skin with every movement. His sheer size overshadowed you, his frame broad and solid against the plush bedding, while your own body feels weightless in comparison.

His hands are on you the moment you settle onto his lap, large and warm as they trace the ridges of your ribs beneath your oversize shirt. He moves slowly, deliberately, lifting the fabric over your head.

His breath hitches as he takes you in—your delicate frame, the lace bralette barely concealing your small, perky breasts, the hollow space between your thighs as you straddle him. His fingers ghost over the jut of your hip bones, circling them like he’s mapping out something precious, something his.

“Stop being mean,” you moaned softly, barely above a whisper, hoping—praying—he would take pity on you. But Riki thrived on this—on control, on watching you struggle against the inevitable.

“You really don’t get it, do you,” he murmurs, voice thick with something possessive. His hands slide lower, gripping your waist with ease, thumbs pressing into your skin like he’s testing how much you can take.

“I could do whatever I want to you right now,” he said, almost to himself. His voice was flat, but there was something predatory beneath it, like he was marveling at how easily you crumbled. “And you couldn’t stop me if you tried.”

You whimpered—half in fear, half in want. You grind your hips instinctively, knowing what he wants before he even has to say it.

His touch is rough but reverent as he strips away your shorts, leaving you in nothing but lace and vulnerability. He takes his time, gaze dragging over every inch of you, savoring the way you look beneath him—fragile, breakable. His expression darkens.

Wordlessly your fingers find the hem of his shirt. You’re barely able to pull it over his head before he discards it entirely, revealing a body carved from sheer strength. Your smaller hands press against his abdomen, tracing the hard lines of muscle, feeling the power beneath his skin.

His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you flush against him. You feel the hard press of him through his sweats, a sharp contrast to your softness. His lips brush against your ear, voice dripping with control.

“You’re so delicate,” he breathes, rolling his hips up just enough to make you shudder. “So easy to ruin.”

A whimper escapes you, and he chuckles—low, deep, indulgent. His fingers tilt your chin up, forcing your gaze to meet his. His thumb presses against your lips before trailing down, tracing the column of your throat, pressing lightly against your pulse.

“You want me to wreck you, don’t you?”

Your breath hitches, and he smirks, already knowing the answer. His smirk deepens as he watches you struggle to speak, your lips parting, breath shaky. His thumb lingers at the base of your throat, pressing just enough to remind you of the difference in your sizes—the way his hand alone could encircle your fragile neck with ease.

“Use your mouth,” he murmurs, his voice a dark velvet command.

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his gaze, the way he drinks in every little reaction from you—the way your ribs shift with each uneven breath, the way your thighs tremble despite barely moving. Your fingers curl against his stomach, gripping onto anything solid as you force yourself to answer.

“Yes, Riki. Want you to… ruin me.” you whisper, your voice small, a stark contrast to the overwhelming presence of him.

“Good girl.” The praise is low, rough, laced with something dangerous. There was no warmth in the way he looked at you. Only possession. He shifted, dragging his sweats down just enough to free his hard on. You froze. The size of him—it was almost intimidating.

You swallowed hard, already aching from how full you knew you were about to be. He grabbed your hand, wrapped it around his cock. Made you feel how hard he was. How ready. He didn’t ask if you wanted it. You already said enough.

His grip tightens at your waist, the muscles in his arms flexing as he lifts you effortlessly, positioning you exactly where he wants you—like you weigh nothing at all. He’s toying with you, rubbing himself across your socked folds. He enjoyed the contrast, the way your tiny frame fits so perfectly against him.

His free hand trails down your back, fingers tracing the delicate bumps of your spine before gripping onto your hip, pressing his thumb into the sharp dip. He tilts his head, studying you like he’s figuring out just how much you can take.

His hands move lower, gripping the backs of your thighs, spreading them wider as he keeps you balanced in his lap. He lets out a low chuckle as he glances down at the space between them, his gaze flicking back up to yours with amusement.

“This little gap between your thighs…” he muses, running his fingers along the inside of your leg, barely touching, teasing. “So small… how are you supposed to take me, hm?”

You whimper, pressing closer, wordlessly begging for more. His fingers dig into your skin in response, a silent warning.

“Patience.” The word is firm, dripping with authority.

His other hand slides up your side, thumb grazing the faint outline of your ribs. His gaze darkens. “I can feel every inch of you.” He leans in, lips grazing over the thin skin just beneath your jaw, a barely-there kiss before he bites down, enough to make you gasp. “So breakable.”

Your fingers tighten around his shoulders, nails sinking into his skin, desperate for something to ground you. He’s all around you—his voice in your ears, his hands on your body, his heat sinking into your bones.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs, each word a slow, deliberate promise. “And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

His words settle deep into your bones, a dark promise wrapped in velvet. Riki takes his time, reveling in the contrast—his sheer size against your fragile form, the way your thin body fits so easily in his grasp.

His dark eyes trace over you, drinking in the sight of your sharp collarbones, the delicate outline of your ribs, the soft expanse of your stomach. His lips curl into something possessive, something dangerous.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with hunger. His thumb trails down your sternum, pressing lightly against the hollow between your ribs. “So tiny… like you were made to be handled like this.”

A whimper escapes you, your body trembling slightly under his touch. You know he feels it—feels how easily he could control you, how effortlessly he could shape you to his will. His grip tightens in response, and he smirks.

“You like it, don’t you?” His voice is low, teasing, his hands guiding you down until the heat of him presses flush against you, sending a shiver up your spine. He doesn’t move any further, just holds you there, watching, waiting.

You let out a desperate little noise, shifting slightly, but he doesn’t budge. His fingers flex against your hips, keeping you still. “Say it,” he commands.

“I—I like it,” you breathe, barely above a whisper. His smirk deepens. “You like feeling small? Like knowing I can do whatever I want with you?” Your head nods instinctively, but it’s not enough. His hand is on your jaw in an instant, tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his. His fingers press in just enough to part your lips.

“Words, baby.”

“Yes,” you whimper. “I love it.”

A satisfied growl rumbles in his chest. “That’s my girl.”

And then he moves.

His hands guide you down, inch by inch, stretching you out, making you take every part of him. A broken moan slips from your lips, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your body struggles to adjust. The sheer size of him against your delicate frame makes your breath hitch, makes your mind blur with the overwhelming sensation of being completely filled.

His head falls back against the headboard, a low groan escaping him as he watches you struggle to take all of him, your tiny body trembling against his. His hand moves to your stomach, pressing down slightly, feeling the way he stretches you from the inside. His dark eyes flicker with something primal.

“Look at that,” he murmurs, almost in awe. “So small, yet you’re taking me so well.”

You can’t think, can’t breathe—all you can do is feel him, everywhere, inside and out. Your hands clutch onto him for support, your head falling forward against his shoulder as he finally starts to move, slow at first, savoring the way your body reacts to him.

The pace doesn’t stay gentle for long. Riki’s control snaps as he grips your hips and starts pulling you down harder, faster, setting a brutal rhythm that has you gasping for air. His lips are everywhere—brushing over your throat, your collarbones, your shoulders—biting, marking, claiming. Each thrust sends a shockwave through your body, his strength overwhelming, consuming.

“You feel that?” he growls against your ear, his hand pressing against your stomach again. “I’m so deep inside you… I can see the way you stretch around me.”

Your vision blurs, pleasure and pain mixing into something intoxicating. Your body feels weightless, completely at his mercy, lost in the feeling of being utterly dominated.

“You’re mine,” Riki breathes, his voice rough with possession. His fingers grip your chin, forcing your dazed eyes to meet his. “Say it.”

“Y-Yours,” you gasp, barely able to form words. Eyes rolling into your skull, mouth hung open.

A dark smile plays on his lips. “That’s right, baby.” His pace quickens, sending you spiraling, your body breaking apart beneath his hands. “And I’m never letting you go.”

Your breath comes in sharp moans, body trembling as his fucks himself ruthlessly into you. Riki doesn’t slow, doesn’t ease up—his grip stays firm, controlling every movement, every reaction, molding you to his will.

His hands, large and warm, slide down your back, pressing against the delicate ridges of your spine, keeping you flush against him. The heat between your bodies is overwhelming, a stark contrast between his strength and your fragility. His lips ghost over your jaw, brushing against your ear as he speaks, voice rough with control.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, his fingers pressing lightly into your stomach. “Feel how deep I am?” You were full—stuffed to the edge of what you could handle.

Your body shudders, head tilting back as your hands grasp at his shoulders, seeking any form of stability. His grip tightens.

“Look at me,” he commands.

It takes effort, but you meet his gaze—dark, hungry, filled with something possessive. His thumb drags along your cheek, his touch deceptively gentle as he watches you struggle against the overwhelming sensation of him.

“So small,” he muses, almost to himself. His hand slides back to your waist, fingers spreading wide, nearly spanning the entirety of your narrow frame. “Yet you take everything I give you.”

He thrust up into you with sharp, brutal rhythm. Each movement knocked the air from your lungs, sent sparks through your spine. His hands guided your body like you were nothing more than a doll—something soft and weak and pliable in his grip. He watches you with dark amusement, watches the salty tears falling down your face.

Riki doesn’t stop—he keeps you right where he wants you, controlling every movement, every sound that leaves your lips. His strength is overwhelming, his presence all-consuming. The way he holds you, the way he moves, it’s like he’s claiming you over and over again, leaving no part of you untouched, no space between you unfilled.

Your body trembles, struggling to keep up with the pace he sets, but he keeps you steady, his grip firm, unrelenting. His fingers press into your hips, guiding you effortlessly, making sure you take every bit of him.

“To fucked out, baby?” His voice is thick with something dark, something possessive, as he presses a hand to your stomach again, feeling the way your body stretches around him. “To full to even think huh.”

Your head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut as the tension coils tighter and tighter inside you. His breath is hot against your skin, his lips tracing the slope of your neck, biting, marking, making sure you’ll feel him even when he’s not there.

“Look at me,” he commands again, his tone leaving no room for disobedience.

Somehow, you manage to lift your head, your dazed eyes meeting his. His gaze is molten, burning with something intense, something primal. His hands slide up your sides, thumbs tracing the delicate lines of your ribs before gripping your waist again.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice low and rough, his movements growing sharper, more desperate.

Your body is already teetering on the edge, every nerve alight, every part of you wound tight and ready to snap.

“I-I’m yours, Riki.”

And that’s all it takes.

A deep, satisfied groan rumbles in his chest as he finally lets go, filling you up to the brim. his grip on you tightening as he pulls you against him, holding you there as waves of pleasure crash over you both. Your body trembles in his arms, your mind blank, lost in the feeling of being completely his.

Riki keeps you close, his breathing heavy, his hands trailing soothing circles against your back as you come down from the high. Your small frame is limp against him, exhausted, spent. His lips press gently against your temple, a stark contrast to the dominance he held moments ago.

“You did so good for me,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, laced with something almost tender.

Your eyes flutter shut, your body sinking into his warmth, completely safe despite the intensity of what just happened. His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer, as if he has no intention of letting you go—not now, not ever.

And as sleep pulls you under, the last thing you hear is his voice, a quiet promise against your skin.

“You’re mine.”

heyyy hope you enjoyed! my requests are open and i’m officially back! i just forgot my password sorryyy

[pjmxtra]

ㅤㅤ( NRK. )ㅤㅤ✶ㅤㅤ20CM

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ그저 고개 들면 그 곳에, 내가 항상 있을게

SOMAR𝒊O ─── his height and love has grown for youㅤ엔하이픈 니키 𝐱 𝑓. reader ㅤ✉️ㅤwc. 779ㅤ✶ㅤcareful !ㅤskinship, kissing, petnames/ nicknames

ㅤ[𝗁𝗆𝗆…💭] i would like 14 of him please

brothersbsf!riki who's had a crush on you since childhood and can't keep his relationship with you a secret.

Wind blew softly against your face as you entered the kitchen, spawning goosebumps on your skin. The trees danced violently outside, distracting you from the noise entering the house.

Hearing footsteps saunter in your direction, you turned your head to the sound, watching your brother's friends congregate at the doorway and pausing on the tallest one who smirked and studied your petite frame. Fighting back the vehemence of the tint growing on your cheeks you shot them a smile. 

“We’ll be upstairs.” Your brother spoke, saluting you with a wave before disappearing upstairs, unaware of Riki lingering by the doorway and blowing you a kiss you couldn’t help but reciprocate before he followed after them. 

Turning your back to the door, you bit back the smile growing on your face and compelled yourself to begin the dishes. Gently humming while doing so, you stared at the approaching storm and thick clouds covering the sky, hoping that it wouldn’t start raining soon. 

To your surprise, thunder sounded through the sky, startling you enough to take a step back from the window in front of you and into a firm chest. Feeling the arms enclose your waist and making out the fingers covered in rings, you grinned, knowing who it was. 

“Hi, shortie.” Lifting your head to look at him, he leaned down and pressed a kiss onto your lips and disarming your previous scowl. Fighting back a smile, you furrowed your brows, feigning irritation and pouting up at him. “I told you that I don’t like that nickname.” 

Grinning down at your cute expression, he pressed a kiss onto your pouty lips. “I’ll only stop calling you that if you grow taller than me.” Scoffing, you put your focus back on the dishes. 

“You used to be shorter than me, you know.” You complained with a pout, finding it unfair that you’d never escape the nickname. His chuckle at your comment was low and deep as he rested his chin against your neck, peppering kisses on your collarbone. 

Hearing movement upstairs, you finally came back to your senses and straightened up from leaning against his chest. “You have to get off before my brother finds us here.” 

Sighing into the crook of your neck and inhaling your scent, he leaned his forehead into his, tickling your neck with his bangs. “It’s fine, I’m on drinks duty.” 

Snorting, you replied. “How long does it take to get drinks?” 

“Long enough for my girlfriend to not feel scared because of the thunder.” Feeling heat grow on your face from his statement, you grinned at how well he remembered how much you hate thunderstorms. “You’ll be here forever then.” 

Smiling, he fiddled with the rings on his fingers. “I don’t mind.” 

Hearing footsteps descend the stairs, you widened your eyes, elbowing Riki away from you and acting natural. Glancing at his wincing face, you mentally apologised, instantly feeling bad about your defensive reaction. “How long does it take to get drinks?” Your brother spoke, barely noticing his friend’s injured body language and the sweat lining your eyebrows. 

“I was just talking to your sister about whether she has any ointment for my bruise.” Hearing your brother hum in response, you cut in. “Let me take him to where it is.” 

Abandoning your gloves and leaving them by the edge of the sink, you took Riki’s hand and basically ran out of the kitchen away from your clueless brother who got the drinks and went back to his room.

Sitting him on your bed and getting out the first aid kit, you lifted up his shirt, examining the light bruising on his ribs. “I’m so sorry.” You spoke, glancing frantically between his face and the bruise. Applying the ointment carefully on his skin, you puckered your lips to blow on it. 

“I’m so sorry.” You repeated, watching him feign an indifferent look and glance at your apologetic face. “I’ll only accept your apology if you give me a kiss.” 

Watching the corner of his lips twitch upwards while saying the sentence, you grinned in his direction and brought your hand the back of his neck, gently pulling him into you and pressing a peck onto his lips. 

“That’s not enough.” He pouted, furrowing his brows and motioning to his ribs. Pretending to roll your eyes, you pressed a kiss on his lips, counting to ten seconds in your head until he finally broke into a smile against your mouth. 

“Is that better?” You spoke after pulling back, noticing his ears reddening at your action. “Much better.”

LIKES AND REBLOGS ARE HIGHLY APPRECIATED , CLICK TO JOIN TAGLIST

© ANGELQIE 2025.

[pjmxtra]

Jungwon is the type to humiliate and I stand by that !

notes: this took forever... (👁ˋ _ ˊ 👁) PLEASE INTERACT WITH REBLOGS AND COMMENTS I AM NO BETTER THEN BEGGING!

warnings ¡ dub/con, power dynamics, dry humping, exhibition kink, crying kink (idk how to spell it) meanie!wonnie, reader gets shy easily. ughhh idk what else

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Bully!won who looks like the sweetest guy in school to everybody else, everyone is swoon with his big boba eyes and gummy smile. They would've never guessed how much he loves to humiliate you. He'd first spot you sitting Infront of him in the lecture hall nervously fiddling with your pencils before the professor came in, you'd be fun to mess around with he thinks.

He starts off tame, lightly tugging your hair when he sits directly behind you in class just to smirk when you look back at him with furrowed brows and pouty lips, the whimper you let out from the pain makes his cock twitch in his jeans. Always sitting next to you in class just to rest his hand on your thigh to watch you squirm in his hold, it wouldn't go unnoticed by him how you'd cross your legs and arch your back just to get some friction, poor you :c

Once he feels that you deserve his attention he'd start to talk to you. "Have you ever done anal?" asking like its the most casual question to ask during class, your taken aback at his forwardness and stumble over your words not knowing what to say and he's looking at you with his head resting on his palm waiting for an answer. When you decide to just ignore him and write down your notes he furrows his brows "well?...have you?"

Ruining your day always made his, especially when he goes home and has your pretty flustered face engraved in his brain to jerk off to. Realizing how much he wanted to fuck you until you cried only made the humiliation worse. He'd push you into the janitors closet between breaks and flip you so your stomach is facing the wall and rut against your ass, not even bothering to flip your skirt up just letting his hard cock rub the fabric. All you can do is walk around campus with a wet spot plastered on your skirt, and if someone asks what it is you say you just sat on some water with your head hung low.

[pjmxtra]

Can you write something with riki with a reader with daddy issues ?? smut or fluff or both u choose i love your fics sm 😭😭

i’m not him ⋆˚⟡˖ ࣪

paring: 니키 x gnr

warning: angst to fluff, daddy issues, mentions of yelling, not being good enough, reader is smaller than riki

an: thank you sm for the request! i decided to do fluff for this once since it hit so close to home and i can’t bear writing it rn. hope it was up to your expectations and thank you again for the compliment on my writing!

The fights were inevitable.

Your father would come home exhausted, head pounding, the weight of the day heavy on his shoulders. You always knew the signs — the way his keys clattered sharper than necessary onto the counter, the slump of his body as he threw himself onto the couch, the way his eyes glazed past you like you weren’t even there.

But you were young — too young to understand how someone could be present and so absent all at once. So, you did what any little girl would do: you tried. You tried to fill the heavy silence with bright smiles and endless chatter, desperate to pull him back, to make him see you. You spoke about everything and nothing, heart wide open, hoping he’d listen. Hoping he’d love you loud in return.

Instead, he’d snap.

Sharp words. Cold eyes. A harsh tone that made your chest cave in.

“Just shut up already,” he’d bark, and you would crumble, every time — running to your room, stifling your sobs into the pillow. You learned young that your voice could be a weapon against yourself. That love could be conditional. That your presence could be too much.

And so you grew quieter. More careful. You weighed your words before you spoke them. Measured your laughter. Softened your footsteps. You became an expert at shrinking yourself until you were almost invisible — anything to avoid the shame of being too much, too loud, too you.

When you started dating Riki, you made it your silent mission: Don’t be annoying. Don’t be too much. Stay small. Stay safe.

Maybe then he wouldn’t leave.

Maybe then you’d be enough.

The clock struck twelve when you heard the door creak open, the soft shuffle of tired footsteps echoing through the cold, dim apartment. You sat curled on the couch, a half-watched show playing to an empty room. The second Riki stepped inside, you shot up, forcing a bright smile onto your face.

“Hi, Ki!” you chirped, voice higher than you intended.

Riki’s face, pale and drawn with exhaustion, barely lifted to meet your eyes. His duffel bag slipped from his shoulder with a heavy thud, and he dragged himself over, dropping onto the couch beside you. His body sprawled out, limbs heavy, every move soaked in fatigue.

Still, you tried. “How was practice, Ki?” you asked, carefully, sweetly, trying to wedge yourself into the growing space between you.

“Fine,” he mumbled, eyes closed.

You kept talking, desperate to fill the emptiness. “Mine was good too! Kinda boring without you though. I did catch up on that new show we started — the one you said looked cool? I think you’d really like it, it’s got—”

He let out a heavy sigh, cutting through your words like a blade.

“Look, I’m tired, okay?” he muttered, sitting up with effort. “Let’s talk about this later. I’m gonna go shower.”

He left without a second glance.

The silence he left behind was louder than any scream.

You sat frozen for a moment, the weight of your own words crashing down around you. The smile you had so carefully stitched across your face fell apart at the seams. Your throat tightened, a lump swelling that you couldn’t swallow down.

You annoyed him. You made him leave.

The sound of the shower running in the distance only sharpened the ache inside you, anchoring you to the reality you didn’t want to face. You curled tighter into yourself on the couch, arms wrapped around your middle as if you could hold yourself together.

You didn’t realize when you started crying — it came slow at first, a sting behind your eyes, a soft hitch in your breath. Then harder, faster, until you were gasping, your chest heaving under the pressure.

You crawled into bed alone, pulling the blanket up to your chin, curling into the smallest shape you could manage. Maybe if you were small enough, quiet enough, you wouldn’t be a burden. Wouldn’t be too much.

When Riki joined you later, the mattress dipped under his weight, his body sinking in beside you. His warmth should’ve been a comfort — but the gap between you felt like a canyon. His arm slung over your waist, but it was loose, half-hearted, almost mechanical. You could feel how far away he was.

And still, the noise in your head wouldn’t stop.

You pushed him away. You made him tired of you. You’re too much.

A soft, broken sniffle escaped you before you could bite it down. Immediately, Riki stirred.

“Baby?” His voice was thick with sleep, but sharpened instantly with concern. He propped himself up on one elbow, peering down at you through the dark.

“Why you crying?” he asked, voice rough and bewildered.

You shook your head desperately, trying to hide your face from him. But Riki was relentless when it came to you — he pulled gently at your shoulder until you were facing him, your tear-streaked face bathed in the faint moonlight.

His heart twisted painfully at the sight.

“Oh, angel,” he murmured, sliding closer, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you firmly into his chest. He held you like you might break — no, like you already were, and he was trying to piece you back together.

You buried your face in his hoodie, clutching the fabric like a lifeline.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out against him. “I didn’t mean to be annoying. I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“Mad?” Riki repeated, stunned. His hands stilled on your back. “Baby, no. No. I’m not mad.”

But you couldn’t stop — the words spilled out, messy and gasping, the dam finally breaking.

“It’s just—” you sobbed, voice trembling, “When you’re quiet like that… when you don’t want to talk to me… it feels like I’m bothering you. Like you don’t want me around. And it’s stupid but—” you squeezed your eyes shut, the memory sharp and painful, “it reminds me of my dad.”

Riki froze, heart hammering in his chest. You pressed your forehead against him, words tumbling out raw and broken.

“He’d come home tired and mad. Wouldn’t look at me. Wouldn’t listen. I’d try so hard to make him see me — but I was always just… noise. Annoying. Something to shut up and push away.” You trembled in his arms. “I learned to stay small so they wouldn’t leave. So I wouldn’t ruin everything.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Crushing.

You could hear Riki’s heartbeat, fast and frantic under your ear, as he held you tighter. His big hands cradled your head, wrapped around your back, cocooning you in warmth and desperation.

He kissed the top of your head, lips trembling against your hair.

“I’m not him,” he whispered fiercely, voice cracking. “God angel- i’m not him”

You sobbed harder at his words, the relief and fear and love crashing together inside you.

“I’m not ever going to make you feel like you have to shrink yourself for me,” he said, pulling back just enough to tilt your chin up. His thumb wiped away the tears streaking down your face. His eyes — dark, earnest, burning with something raw and unshakable — locked onto yours.

“I want your voice,” he said, fierce and aching. “I want every piece of you — loud, soft, messy, wild. You’ll never be too much for me, baby. Never.”

You shuddered, breaking apart in his arms as his words wrapped around you like a balm.

“I love you,” he said again, sure and solid. “All of you.”

He kissed you then — your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, your mouth — each kiss a vow, a tether pulling you back to him. Slow and tender, steady and real.

His kiss tasted like home. Like a promise you could believe in.

You melted into him, clinging to his warmth, his steady heartbeat, the way he whispered against your skin that he wasn’t leaving — not now, not ever.

And for the first time in a long, long time, you let yourself believe it.

You were safe here.

Safe in his arms. Safe to be loud. Safe to be loved. Safe to be you.

[pjmxtra]

29 mr nishimuraaaaaa

whiplash (m)

#29 You tease the quiet boy in your friend group too far, and he snaps—fucking you hard enough to make you cry and then cuddling you like nothing happened.

niki x reader · prompt request list

synopsis: You thought teasing the quiet boy in your friend group was harmless—until Ni-ki finally snapped, fucking you hard enough to make you cry, then pulling you into his arms like nothing ever happened. ✉️ 980wc - ‼️ friends to lovers, size kink, rough sex, crying kink, overstimulation, breeding kink, aftercare, quiet boy snapping, bratty teasing, manhandling, creampie

📝: niki manhandling me pls

Ni-ki was always the quiet one in your friend group—stoic, reserved, always watching but rarely talking. It wasn’t that he was shy, necessarily, just… too chill to participate in the chaos. The rest of the group was a walking circus: Woonhak always yelling, Sungho deadpanning, Jaehyun micromanaging everyone’s snack bags, and you, the mouthy one who never shut up. Especially around Ni-ki.

“Do you even speak?” you snorted one day while everyone was lounging around in Leehan’s basement, half-buzzed on soda and sleep deprivation. Ni-ki just glanced at you, face unreadable, while the others burst out laughing.

“That’s not fair,” Riwoo piped up between bites of seaweed chips. “He talks. Just not to you.”

“Ouch.” You clutched your chest mock-dramatically. “I’m offended. Actually, I think I’m his favorite. He’s just playing hard to get.”

Ni-ki didn’t say a word. Just kept sipping his drink with that same maddening calm.

But you liked getting a rise out of him. Over the next few weeks, the teasing escalated.

“Blink twice if you’re real.”

“You’re like an NPC, you know that?”

“I bet your phone autocorrects everything to ‘k.’”

He never snapped. Not once. Not even when you flicked a popcorn kernel at him across the couch and it landed in his hoodie.

But something changed the night of Jaehyun’s birthday party. The group had rented a karaoke room, and somewhere between terrible rap verses and awful renditions of ballads, you and Ni-ki ended up sitting alone in the hallway. The others had gone back in to sing “Love Dive” at full volume.

You nudged his arm with your shoulder. “You know, if you ever decide to speak to me, I might faint.”

Silence.

“Like, actually. Flat on the floor. Need CPR and everything. Might be your only chance to touch me.”

And that’s when it happened.

He turned. Looked you dead in the eye. And said, “You should shut the fuck up for once.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I’m serious,” he said, voice low and calm—too calm. “You act like you want attention, but I don’t think you’re ready for what happens when you actually get mine.”

Oh.

Oh.

You weren’t expecting him to stand up, take your hand, and lead you down the hall like it was nothing. Weren’t expecting to end up shoved against the wall of an empty storage room, lights dim, his hoodie off and jaw clenched.

“Still think I’m an NPC?” he asked, fingers already under your skirt.

“Ni-ki—”

“Be quiet,” he said again, this time pressed against your ear. “You’ve been talking all month. Time to listen.”

And listen you did.

To the sound of your own whimpers as he bent you over a forgotten couch, shoved your panties aside, and fucked into you like it was something he’d been planning—mapping out in that silent mind of his for weeks.

“You always run your mouth,” he muttered, pulling your head back by your hair just enough to kiss your throat. “So loud. Always poking me like I’m not gonna do anything.”

“You never—ah—said I had to stop—”

Ni-ki didn’t hesitate. One of his large hands gripped your waist, the other fisting in your hair, forcing you to arch your back just enough. You barely managed a breath before he shoved the thick head of his cock against your entrance, pressing in hard.

The stretch made your mouth fall open in a silent gasp. He didn’t ease you into it—he drove himself inside you all at once, splitting you wide open on his cock in one rough, overwhelming thrust. Your nails dug into the couch cushions, back bowing under the sudden, brutal pressure.

“Fuck—Ni-ki—” you whimpered, the force of it nearly knocking the air from your lungs.

He wasn’t gentle. His hips slammed into yours over and over, heavy, relentless, the wet slap of skin against skin filling the room. His cock pounded deep inside you, thick and hot, making your pussy spasm around him with every brutal stroke. Each thrust forced needy, broken sounds from your lips, louder than you could even think to control.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, spilling over when he fucked you harder, chasing the tight clench of your walls around him. You cried—not just from the stretch, but from the pure overwhelming feeling of being used and filled so perfectly, so completely, you couldn’t even think straight.

“You wanted attention, right?” Ni-ki growled low against your ear, voice a deep, dangerous rumble. His hand slipped between your legs, fingers rubbing fast, brutal circles over your swollen clit. “Take it.”

You sobbed, legs trembling uncontrollably under the weight of him, mind blank from how good it felt, how rough he was giving it to you. Every part of you was reduced to raw sensation: the thick drag of his cock splitting you open, the helpless clenching of your cunt around him, the burn in your thighs from how hard he kept you pinned in place.

Your orgasm hit you like a slap, sudden and devastating. You wailed his name, body convulsing, squeezing tight around him as he fucked you through it mercilessly. His pace grew frantic, sloppy, chasing his own release. With a broken, low groan, he slammed deep one last time and came inside you, cock pulsing thick spurts of hot cum against your walls.

Neither of you moved for a long moment, just breathing hard.

When you finally collapsed forward, boneless and dazed, Ni-ki gently pulled you onto his lap, his cock still buried inside you, softening slowly. His hands roamed your back soothingly, like he hadn’t just wrecked you five minutes ago.

“You okay?” he murmured, voice soft again, brushing a kiss to your temple.

You could only nod weakly, mind swimming.

He smiled faintly, arms wrapping tighter around you. “You talk too much,” he said, a little smug. “But I guess I like you anyway.”

wanna read my longer ffs? check out @shy9-29 || prompt req list

[pjmxtra]

"Wanna See?"

Basically, it was your finals week. Riki came over acting all upset because you were 'ignoring' him.

A/N: wrote this for less than an hour (hence the reason why it is a bit tacky) because I was bored and I am having post exam anxiety. This was very fun to write (I got second hand embarrassment while writing lmao).

Pairings: Nishimura Riki × Reader

Genre: Fluff × Suggestive

TW: Mentions of male genital. Low-key cat and dog dynamics.

“Bruh! Come here! Stop acting like a mysterious hermit.” you said, dragging your sulking boyfriend into the frame of your iPad's front camera.

It was a regular Tuesday night before your last finals exam, and your clingy-ass boyfriend decided to pop up unannounced in the dead of night under the guise of bringing you dinner. In reality? He just missed you and needed attention. Study session? Absolutely wrecked by whiny Riki in his signature black cargo pants and navy green hoodie.

“Why did you even come over if you're gonna act like a bish.” You rolled your eyes at him as he continued to refuse a selfie, his ever-deepening frown matching your own. You even tried sneakily inching your iPad toward him, but this man dodged like his life depended on it—like that 12MP lens was a sniper scope.

Then he yanked you by the waist and buried his face into your neck. You're not sure if it was a tactic to hide his face or if he was just being extra clingy, but either way—it was annoying. You shoved his face away.

“What’s your problem?!” he whined, his brows still furrowed like a grumpy cat.

You squinted. “No. What is your problem?!” you shot back, swatting his hands away. “I was peacefully studying and then you waltzed in, started acting like a toddler, and now I can't even take one cute pic of us?!” you hissed, teeth clenched.

In true demon form, Ni-ki bit your neck mid-sentence, earning a sharp curse mixed with his name.

“No. What is your problem?!” he repeated, this time with trembling lips and a suspiciously emotional tone. “I’ll be on tour for three months, and you didn’t even bother messaging or calling me!” His voice cracked. “If I didn’t come over tonight, I bet you wouldn’t even care even if I got eaten by wolves!”

You groaned like it was your final breath.

“And now you suddenly want to take a cute picture like you didn’t ghost me all week and act like I was some delivery guy when I arrived!” he huffed, biting your neck again.

“STOP THAT!” you shrieked and pushed his face off like you were warding off a vampire.

“I was going to visit you after my exams!” you snapped, mirroring his dramatic energy.

He hugged your waist tighter, now clinging like a koala.

“But that’s just one day before I leave! That’s not enough! Not freaking enough!” he argued like a pouty kid denied candy. “And where’s my kiss, huh? You didn’t even look at me when I walked in!”

At this point, you weren’t sure if you were dating a guy or babysitting a 6-foot-tall, sentient tantrum. You glared at him.

“I was reviewing, you dumbass!” you growled, grabbing his chin forcefully to face the camera. He grumbled out a protest, but before he could escape again, you smashed your lips onto his and furiously pressed the shutter button.

His gasp of surprise gave you the perfect opening to slip your tongue in. Just for science, of course. The pathetic little whimper he let out in response almost made you short-circuit. He gripped the back of your head, tilted slightly, and tried to suck your soul out like his life depended on it.

You pulled back after a few seconds, breathless and wide-eyed.

And there he was—Nishimura Riki, the cool boy with maximum aura (his words, not yours), tomato red and staring at the wall like it held the answers to the universe. He avoided your gaze and opened his mouth slightly like he was gonna say something profound... then he dragged you into his lap and hid his face in your neck again.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Bro, what the hell?”

He looked up, dead serious.

“I am not your bro.” And just like that, he faceplanted into your neck again. "Say that again I'm gonna smack you." He threatens.

You were about to roast him, about to suggest calling him 'sis' instead, but then—you felt it.

Your eyes went wide. You froze.

You suddenly felt something... poking you from below.

Now you were the one frozen, eyes wide in absolute horror.

You sat stiffly on his lap for a few seconds, every neuron in your brain screaming at once.

To confirm your worst suspicion, you discreetly shifted your hips—just the tiniest bit. But the moment you did—

“Hnghh…”

Riki moaned.

His hands gripped your waist tighter, and it felt like your entire soul just jumped out of your body and hit a backflip midair.

You panicked. Hard.

"What are you doing, baby?" he asked, dazed, his voice breathy and sinful and entirely too casual for what was happening.

You panicked even harder.

"Bro, your dick is poking me!" you blurted out with a nervous chuckle, trying—failing—to downplay the absolute meltdown happening inside your brain.

You and Ni-ki had been together for years. You’ve done a lot of questionable stuff—made out in cars, in hallways, even in the middle of a study session—but this? This was new. This was dangerous territory.

Ni-ki, now redder than a stop sign, didn’t look away. His eyes were glued to yours.

"That’s your fault…" he muttered with a dramatic little whine.

You slowly grabbed his wrists and tried to peel his hands off you so you could escape this abomination of a moment—

But the universe said no.

You slowly moved your boyfriend's hands from you and tried to get up. But then, Riki held you back firmly, unintentionally pressing you down back against the very thing you were trying to flee from. And for the love of God, the sound you just squeaked was enough to make your souls burn in the pits of hell.

It sounded so womanly: It sounded nothing like you've ever sounded before.

Mortified, you shoved Riki back onto the couch like you were performing an exorcism and scrambled away, flailing like a fish out of holy water.

You made the sign of the cross with your arms, eyes wide like you’d seen Satan himself.

Riki blinked at you, clearly confused—then he started laughing.

“Devil be gone!” you screamed at him, still backing away like he had the plague.

“What?” he laughed through his red face. “It’s a normal bodily reaction, love. Don’t worry about it too much.” He tried to reassure you with flushed cheeks and zero shame.

You scooted farther like he had uncured demonic possession. “Get that ginormous thing away from me!” you yelped.

Ni-ki smirked, clearly entertained. But thankfully, he respected your space and stayed where he was.

“Ginormous?” he repeated, the grin on his face slowly evolving into the grin of a man whose ego just grew five sizes.

You nodded frantically. Big mistake.

His grin got even wider. "It's a perfectly manageable size, baby. Wanna see?"

“NOPE!” You squealed, hands flapping as you turned tail and ran straight to your room, slamming the door and locking it like you were under siege.

“Darn you, Nishimura Riki!” you shouted from behind the door, face buried in your pillow in defeat.

And from the other side, his smug little voice:

“You said ginormous.”

____

I luv him sm hehehe

[pjmxtra]

what if nk × fem reader in wax play? Remember the chrome hearts candle ni-ki has in his dorm✨️

pain is pleasure ‧₊˚ ⋅

paring: 니키 x fmr

warning: smut! Reader is describe skinny (if that makes you uncomfortable block me!) wax play, burning, dom!niki, sub! reader, oral sex (f), fingering, p in v, to lazy to put more

an: it's getting freaky out here with these requests hope I did good I've never experienced doing wax play so I didn't really know what to write but!!

Niki stood at the edge of the bed, gaze dark and hungry as it roamed over your slight, trembling body. You looked so small wrapped in blush-pink lace, wrists bound and pinned above your head with silk ties.

The fabric barely covered you, clinging to your sharp hips, your narrow chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. He could see the way your ribs pressed gently against your skin, the lace hugging the curve of your flat chest like a whisper.

Your thighs quivered against the soft bedding, legs parted just slightly, as if you were inviting him in despite yourself.

Those big doe eyes of yours blinked up at him from beneath your lashes, wide and glossy, filled with that familiar mixture of anticipation and fear. The cloth in your mouth muffled your little whines, but he could still hear you — could feel every sound you made echoing in his bones.

“You look like a gift someone left just for me,” Niki murmured, leaning down to brush a kiss against your temple. His voice was low, almost tender, but there was nothing soft about the heat in his eyes. “All wrapped up. Helpless.”

His fingers trailed slowly down your chest, grazing over the delicate bones beneath your skin — the sharp edge of your sternum, the small mounds of your breasts barely filling his palm. He brushed his thumbs over your nipples, already peaked through the lace, and smiled when you arched into the touch like it hurt.

And then he reached for the candle.

You whimpered instantly when you saw it — the thick, cream-colored wax already softening near the flame. Niki tilted the candle just enough for you to watch the first drop fall, slow and deliberate.

He didn’t say a word as he held it over your belly, right above your navel, and let a single drop hit your skin.

You jumped violently, breath catching. The pain was sharp, immediate, but fleeting — quickly replaced by a burn that pulsed low in your belly. You thrashed lightly against the ties, a muffled sob pressed into the gag.

Niki chuckled, warm and cruel. “We haven’t even started, baby.”

He kissed your forehead again, soft like he was soothing you — but the glint in his eye said otherwise. With calculated precision, he tipped the candle again, letting the wax drip slowly down your stomach in uneven trails, branding you.

Your hips bucked, desperate and helpless. He let it happen, admired the way your body danced under his control, your thighs twitching as you tried to stay still. “Look at you. Trying to take it. You’re doing so good.”

When the wax began to cool, forming little splashes on your skin like a twisted artist’s canvas, he finally set the candle down. But he wasn’t done. Not even close.

His large hand trailed lower, fingers sliding over the front of your lace panties. You were soaked, the fabric darkened with your need. He pressed his fingers in slow circles against your clit, watching your hips twitch in response, your thighs squeezing together in instinctive need. You were trembling now, entirely at his mercy.

He slipped his hand into your waistband and ran a thick finger through your wet folds, collecting the slick mess you’d made for him. You tried to hold his gaze, but your eyes fluttered shut when he pushed a finger in — then another — rough and fast from the start.

You moaned behind the cloth, the sound high-pitched and desperate.

“That’s it,” Niki growled. “Let me hear you"

He pumped his fingers into you harder, curling them just right, the wet sounds of your cunt filling the room, obscene and beautiful. Your whole body strained against the ties, hips rocking helplessly, thighs tensing as that sharp edge of release built like a storm inside you.

But just as your breath hitched, just as you were ready to fall over the edge— He stopped.

His fingers slipped free, glistening with your arousal, and he looked down at you with a smirk that made your whole body ache.

Your hips jerked in frustration, eyes pleading. But Niki just leaned in close, lips brushing your ear.

“Not yet, little thing,” he whispered. “I haven’t finished painting you.”

Your breath came in ragged little gasps around the gag, your eyes glassy with desperation. Every part of you throbbed—your skin, your cunt, your mind overwhelmed and trembling on the edge. And Niki watched you, eyes dark with possession, like he’d never seen anything more beautiful than your suffering.

He picked up the candle again.

Your eyes widened. You tried to shake your head, a soft sound of protest slipping from your throat. But he only smiled, calm and cruel, tipping your chin up with two fingers.

“You can take it,” he murmured. “You want to, don’t you? Want to be marked for me. Even here.”

He dragged the candle lower, just above your pelvis now. You felt the heat of it before the wax even touched you, your whole body clenching in anticipation. He tilted it—slowly, deliberately—and a drop fell just at the edge of your lace panties, so close to your clit you jerked like you’d been shocked.

Another drop, lower this time. Right on the tender crease where your thigh met your hipbone.

You choked on a whimper, back arching. The burn was sharp, bright, then dulled into a pulsing ache that only made the need between your legs worse.

Niki looked mesmerized, watching the wax trail over your skin like he was painting a masterpiece. His fingers gently pulled your panties aside, exposing the slick, trembling mess beneath.

“You’re soaked,” he said, almost in awe.

He dropped the candle on the nightstand, finally, and then sank down between your thighs. His big hands slid under your legs, lifting them easily, spreading you open. The cool air hit your dripping cunt, and then. His tongue.

Hot and broad and slow at first, licking one long stripe from your entrance up to your clit. You cried out behind the gag, hips bucking into his face, desperate for more. Niki groaned like he was starving, like your taste ruined him.

He wrapped his arms under your thighs, locking you in place, and started to devour you.

His tongue flicked and curled around your clit, fast and relentless, while his mouth sucked just enough to make you see stars. Every sound you made only pushed him harder, deeper—he licked you like he was trying to make you fall apart with just his mouth.

Your legs trembled in his hold, your whole body tensed as your orgasm started to crest again, harder and hotter this time. Your eyes rolled back, every nerve ending screaming for release.

Niki felt it, the way your cunt clenched and pulsed under his tongue. He moaned into you, sending vibrations through your swollen clit, and your body jerked in response. You were so close. Right there.

Then he slipped two fingers inside you again. He curled them just right, fucking you with the same rhythm his tongue worked over your clit, and that was it.

You shattered.

Your body convulsed, thighs shaking in his grip, your mouth open around the gag as a raw, broken sob of pleasure escaped. He didn’t stop. He fucked you through it, tongue and fingers working you harder as your orgasm tore through you like a wave crashing over your fragile body.

Only when your legs started twitching, your cunt still fluttering around his fingers, did he finally pull away. He kissed your inner thigh, then the spot where the wax had hardened into glossy shapes—his signature, sealed on your skin.

You lay there, boneless and buzzing, chest heaving as he moved up your body and whispered into your ear.

“Now you’re ready for me.”

Your body was limp beneath him, ruined and trembling, every inch of your skin flushed and marked. The wax had cooled into hardened trails down your stomach and thighs, a pattern of pain and devotion. Your breath came in soft, choked sobs around the gag, but your eyes stayed on him—hazy and pleading.

Niki watched you for a long moment, his chest rising and falling as he slid his hands down your sides. He leaned in, brushing his lips along your cheek, your jaw, whispering against your ear.

“You look like a little canvas,” he murmured. “So delicate. So perfect. All mine.”

You whined, hips shifting, seeking friction against his thigh. He chuckled softly, sitting back on his heels as he finally undid the button of his pants, freeing his cock—thick, flushed, already dripping for you. He pumped it slowly, deliberately, letting you watch.

And then, he picked up the candle again.

You moaned helplessly, the sound swallowed by the cloth in your mouth.

“Don’t worry,” he said as he crawled back between your legs. “I’ll give you what you need. But I’m going to keep painting you while I do it.”

He lined himself up, the tip of his cock pressing against your slick entrance, teasing. You tried to move your hips, to pull him in, but he gripped your thighs hard and held you down.

The first drop of wax hit your ribcage, just under your breast. You cried out, hips jolting—and that was when he pushed into you.

One slow, brutal thrust.

You felt every inch of him stretch you open, your small, fragile body clenching around him instinctively. He filled you completely, thick and overwhelming, and your body tried to both escape and hold him in all at once.

“Oh, fuck,” Niki groaned. “You feel even tighter when you’re fighting it.”

He started to move—slow at first, dragging every thrust out so you could feel it, feel how deeply he owned you. His cock filled you again and again, his pace just on the edge of merciless.

And the wax didn’t stop.

Another drop, just above your hip. Then lower, near your navel, in between thrusts.

You whimpered and writhed under him, the combination of the hot wax and the thick, punishing rhythm of his cock keeping your nerves on fire. Your cunt fluttered around him, slick and needy and impossibly sensitive.

He looked down at you, breathless, watching the way your body jerked with each drop, how your face twisted in pain and pleasure.

“Look at this mess,” he rasped, dragging his fingers through the wax trail just beneath your breasts. “So pretty like this. All marked up. All mine.”

He reached up and yanked the gag from your mouth.

You gasped, drool slipping from your lip, voice cracking as you moaned, “Please—please, I need to come—”

Niki’s pace quickened, his hips snapping forward with raw force, slamming into you again and again. His free hand came down between your legs, fingers rubbing tight, fast circles over your clit, now swollen and aching from the teasing.

Another drop of wax, this time closer to your cunt, right on your mound.

You screamed.

And then you came.

It ripped through you violently—your whole body convulsing, your voice breaking as your climax took you like a wave drowning a drowning girl. Your cunt clamped down around him, milking him, and he groaned low and deep, thrusts growing erratic.

“I’m gonna fill you up, baby,” he growled, bending down over you, burying his face in your neck. “Take it. Take everything.”

And with one final thrust, he came hard inside you—filling you up so deep it made you shudder all over again. You felt him pulse inside you, his cock twitching as he poured himself into your trembling, wax-covered body.

He stayed there for a long moment, panting, his chest pressed to yours, lips brushing your ear.

“You were made for this,” he whispered. “Made to take everything I give you.”

[pjmxtra]

Unconditional

WC: 1548

Synopsis: Niki can't get a move down in the new choreography. Turns out he just needs something to take his frustration out on.

Warnings: frustrated Niki, unprotected sex (I'm disappointed), dom!niki, sub!reader, he's a little mean ngl, slight slapping, mirror sex, oral (m. receiving), he's tender with her at the end if you squint, rough fucking, lmk if I missed something lol.

A/n: I wrote this for my beta @midnighthazee lol, she gave me this scenario and I just went with it. It's fun making her read fics about her problem people lmaooo. So thank her for this. Enjoyyyy (my first nonskz fic) :)))

The music cut out as Niki angrily walked over to the laptop connected to the speaker and aggressively reset the music. The echo of his heavy breathing bouncing off the mirrored walls of the empty dance studio. Sweat clung to his neck, soaking the collar of his shirt. He stared at his reflection – red-faced, muscles tense, chest rising and falling too fast. The stupid choreography just wasn’t clicking. 

“Again,” he grunted, breathing hard and intensely as he pressed play.

He kept going through the steps, stumbling on one of the counts. His foot caught on the wrong beat, arms jerking out of sync. He hissed a curse under his breath, dragging his hands through his hair and yanking it back like he could shake himself into doing the move right. 

“Niki?” 

He froze. That voice. Soft, familiar, and getting under his skin. 

He turned, slow and sharp, and there she was—leaning against the doorway, his hoodie half-zipped over her tank top, hair pulled up lazily, like she hadn’t come here to interrupt him but just found herself here.

Niki’s jaw tightened.

“What?” he snapped, harsher than he meant. Her eyes flinched, just barely.

“I was just passing by. Thought I’d see how rehearsal was going.”

“Well, now you’ve seen,” he said, arms crossed, his tone all cut glass and fire.

Y/n didn’t move. Didn’t shrink.

“You’re pissed,” she said plainly, stepping further inside, letting the door shut behind her. Her eyes flicked to the scuffed floor, then back to him. “Is it the turn again?”

“I had it. Last week I had it,” Niki growled, pacing like a caged animal. “And now it’s like my body forgot everything. I’m wasting time. I’m wasting everyone’s time.”

“No one’s here,” she said. “Just me.”

“Exactly,” he shot back. “So go.”

Y/n raised a brow, challenging. “You really want me to go?”

His chest tightened. God, she knew exactly how to make him unravel. She always had.

She took a step closer, and then another, until they were nearly chest to chest, his breath ghosting against her lips. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His fists were clenched at his sides.

She reached up, fingers brushing a damp curl off his forehead. “You're allowed to be frustrated, Niki. But don’t take it out on me like that.”

His eyes closed. Just for a second. Like the contact short-circuited his storm. But when he looked at her again, the fire was still there—less rage now, more... something else.

“Why do you always come in when I’m at my worst?” he murmured, voice low, rough.

“Because I know you don’t need anyone when you’re at your best.”

The tension between them hung like static. She was so close. His hands hovered near her hips like he wanted to hold her, but didn’t trust himself to. Not yet.

“I hate how you do that,” he muttered.

“Do what?”

“Make me feel like I’m not falling apart when I clearly am.”

Y/n smiled, slow and knowing. “You're not falling apart, Niki. You’re just mid-spin.”

His laugh was more of a breath, shaky and bitter-sweet. He let his forehead rest against hers.

“You’re annoying.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You still love me.”

“Yeah,” she whispered, hands finally wrapping around his waist. “I do.”

The music was silent, but somehow, the room felt full again. Niki could still feel the anger lingering below his skin, the furrow between his brows still evident despite the slight comfort his girl was bringing him. Thinking about how he kept messing up brought the anger and annoyance back to the forefront of his mind. 

“Just watch me,” he growled, stalking back to the center of the room. “And keep your mouth shut.”

Y/n nodded and perched on the edge of a chair against the wall. Niki took a deep breath and launched into the routine again, trying to ignore her presence. But no matter how hard he focused, he couldn’t shake the feeling of her eyes on him. Distracting him.

After several more botched attempts, Niki finally gave up with a loud groan of frustration. He kicked over a trash can and stalked toward y/n, grabbing her arm and hauling her to her feet. 

“Come here,” he snarled, dragging her over to the mirrors.

“What are you doing?” Y/n asked nervously, trying to tug her arm free. 

Niki ignored her and shoved her down to her knees, shoving his sweatpants down to reveal his hardening cock. "You're going to suck my dick so I can get rid of some of this frustration," he ordered coldly.

Y/n's eyes widened. "Niki, we're in public-"

"I don't give a fuck," Niki cut her off viciously, fisting a hand in her hair and yanking her head forward. "Open your mouth."

Y/n whimpered but obeyed, parting her lips to let him shove his cock inside. Niki groaned at the feel of her warm mouth enveloping him and started pumping his hips, fucking her face without preamble.

"That's it, take it," he panted, watching their reflection in the mirror. Y/n's cheeks hollowed as she sucked him eagerly, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. Niki used his grip on her hair to control her movements, forcing her to take him deeper.

He pulled out with a wet pop after a few minutes, leaving Y/n gasping and coughing. "Get up," he barked, hauling her to her feet and spinning her around to face the mirror.

Y/n braced her hands on the glass, looking at him with tear-filled eyes in their reflection. 

"Are you gonna try to be gentle?" she whispered.

Niki scoffed and pulled her pants down, resting them just below her ass and shoving her panties aside. "You want me to be gentle? After I've been busting my ass for hours and you interrupt me?"

He drove into her cunt with one brutal thrust, making them both groan. Y/n's pussy was hot and tight around him, clenching down instinctively.

"That's right, baby, let me take it out on you," Niki grunted, setting a punishing pace. He gripped her hips hard enough to leave bruises as he fucked her, slamming into her with enough force to make her breasts bounce in the mirror. "Fucking take it like a good little girl for me, hm?"

Y/n could only moan and push back against him, loving the rough treatment despite herself. She could see how sexy they looked together in the mirror - Niki's lean, muscular body jackhammering into hers, his muscles flexing with every thrust. She could also see the frustration etched into his face, the way his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed in concentration as he used her.

"Just like that, pretty girl." Niki growled, leaning over to bite at her neck possessively while placing his hands over hers on the mirror. "Milk my fucking cock. I know you love being used like this."

"Yes," Y/n whimpered breathlessly. "I love it. I love you."

Those words seemed to snap something inside Niki. He reared back and spanked her hard, making her yelp. "Don't fucking say that," he snarled. "You don't get to love me when I'm so pissed off."

He resumed fucking her savagely, fingers digging into her hips hard enough to leave marks. Y/n could only sob and take it, tears streaming down her face as she came with a scream, pussy clamping down on him like a vice.

"Fuck!" Niki growled, slamming into her one last time before stilling deep inside. He came hard, painting her insides with thick ropes of cum as he emptied himself inside of her.

They collapsed together against the mirror, Niki's softening cock still buried inside her as they caught their breath. Y/n could feel his heart pounding against her back, could feel the sheen of sweat that coated their bodies.

"I'm sorry," Niki mumbled after a long moment, pressing a tender kiss to her shoulder. "I didn't mean to be so rough. I just...I'm so frustrated and I took it out on you."

Y/n turned in his arms to face him, cupping his face in her hands. "I know," she said softly. "But you needed to let it out somehow. And I'm here for you, no matter what."

Niki closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers, breathing in her comforting scent. He knew he was lucky to have her, even if he didn't always treat her like it.

"Thank you," he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. "For putting up with my bullshit. And for letting me use you like that."

Y/n smiled and kissed him back. "Anytime, baby," she murmured. "Now why don't we go get cleaned up and I'll make you something to eat, hm? You need to keep your strength up for another round of this later."

Niki laughed and swatted her ass playfully as she led him out of the studio. He knew he still had a lot of work ahead of him...but with y/n by his side, he felt like he could take on anything.

The next day he came in and immediately had the spin down. Maybe he just needed a little bit of good luck (his girlfriend's throat around his cock).

[pjmxtra]

𝓵et mᥱ 𝓼how you that know about 𝓂ᥱ !

LEiA / iSEUL , 19 years old ; english is not my first language, as some of my works are works in my native language, but translated. (I use an online dictionary, sometimes translator.)

bias and stan list : enhypen ( hyung line. ) , riize ( sohee, anton.) , stray kids ( minho, jisung , hyunjin.) , nct ( jeno , jisung, jaehyun.) , p1harmony ( keeho, soul.) , bnd ( jaehyun, leehan.) , nmixx (bae , sullyoon.) , tripleS (xinyu, sohyun , chaeyeon.) , aespa (karina, giselle.)

rules : no age play, pet play, no incest, or any niche kinks. No gore, no smut about minors ( under 18.) , no noncon.

[pjmxtra]

Perfect in my eyes‧₊˚ ⋅

paring: 니키 x fmr

warning: smut, angst, & fluff | bullying by the other members, itty bitty committee, p in v, reader is thin and described as small (if that makes you uncomfortable pls block me!)

an: another request by my fav anon!! Ily like sm you make my creative juices flow (´ε｀ )♡ I cried while writing it so pls enjoy!!

You padded down the hallway in one of Niki’s shirts, the hem nearly brushing your knees. It swallowed your frame completely—soft fabric drowning your shoulders, sleeves hanging past your fingertips. Only your bare legs peeked out beneath it, small and pale against the oversized tee. The dorm was quiet aside from the occasional rustle of movement and low chatter from the living room. You shuffled into the kitchen, retrieving snacks with quiet precision before heading back.

The guys were draped across the couches, voices low with whatever conversation they’d been having—until they saw you..

Jake snorted. “Whoa. That shirt’s practically a dress on you.”

You paused mid-step, hands full of snacks, blinking toward them. “It’s like you just came out of the laundry hamper with the shirt still wrapped around you,” Sunoo joked, laughing softly.

“I could fold you up in it and still have room to spare,” Jake added, his tone light, teasing—but you still felt your stomach drop.

Jay tilted his head from where he lounged against the cushions. “Seriously, where are your limbs? You look like a floating head with legs.”

Your grip tightened around the bag of chips. You tried to smile, tried to brush it off with a small shrug. “I like it. It’s comfortable…”

“Comfortable?” Jake laughed again. “It’s practically eating you alive.”

“Yeah,” Jay chimed in, smirking. “You gotta put some meat on those bones or the wind’s gonna blow you away.”

The words stung sharper than they probably meant them to. You felt exposed. Your body, already something you’d been quietly insecure about, now felt like a spotlight had been thrown on it. You shifted on your feet, suddenly wishing the floor would open up and let you vanish back into Niki’s room without another word.

You lowered your head, eyes fixed on the snack bag, heart thudding. You hated that they’d noticed. Hated that your body never looked the way others expected it to. You weren’t curvy, soft, or womanly in the way you assumed Niki’s bandmates preferred.

Your silence must have lingered too long, because then— “Hey,” a voice behind you said, low and firm. “Let’s stop with the jokes, Hyung.”

You didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. Niki’s voice was deep, calm, a grounding presence that wrapped around your spine and steadied your breath. He appeared beside you a moment later, his large hand sliding around your waist effortlessly, his fingers nearly touching in front as he held you close to his towering frame.

Jake gave a nervous chuckle. “It was just a joke—she’s tiny. It’s not a bad thing.”

“Yeah, we didn’t mean anything by it,” Sunoo offered quickly.

“She’s just small, and you’re… well, you know…” Jay trailed off, trying to smile.

Niki didn’t look at them. His voice was low, cool. “You guys are pathetic.”

Then, without another glance at the others, he guided you away—back into the safety of his room, shutting the door behind you with a thud that seemed to mark the end of the conversation.

You sat at the edge of the bed, quiet. His shirt swallowed you even more when you hunched your shoulders. You picked at the hem, lost in your thoughts. Were they right? Did he secretly wish you were different? Softer, curvier—less… fragile?

“Kii,” you whispered, your voice barely there.

He stood at the door, back straight, eyes unreadable.

“Hm?”

You hesitated, then breathed out your doubt like it stung. “Do you think… I should change?”

He blinked, confused at first. Then—his expression tightened. “Are you serious?” he asked, crossing the room in three long strides. You didn’t answer, but the way your eyes shimmered said enough. Your lips trembled. You looked breakable—and it made his chest twist in frustration.

He knelt in front of you, gently pulling your small hands into his much larger ones. He pressed soft kisses to your knuckles, each one slow and steady. Then, looking up, he said, “You’re my girl. My beautiful girl. You don’t have to change for anyone—not even me. I love you.”

Your breath hitched. Niki stood and eased you into the bed like you weighed nothing. You clung to the warmth of his words, wanting to sink into them completely.

He leaned down, brushing a kiss to your forehead. “I have no problem showing you what I see when I look at you." Your heart stuttered. How could he say things like that? So easily, so surely?

Your hands reached up to him, brushing his hair back. “Show me,” you whispered against his lips, barely audible. “Please.”

His lips captured yours in a kiss as gentle as it was grounding. His hands traveled your body—slow, firm, claiming. His knee slipped between your thighs, spreading them apart like it was second nature. His mouth trailed from your lips to your neck, marking you softly but deliberately.

The shirt came off. Your shorts followed. Left in nothing but a lace set that looked like it belonged on a doll, your arms instinctively came up to shield yourself.

Niki’s hands slid over yours, pulling them away. “No, baby,” he murmured, eyes dark and soft. “Let me see my girl.”

You dropped your arms, heart pounding. His eyes roamed your body like you were art, a reverence in his gaze that made you want to cry. “So fucking pretty,” he breathed, cheeks tinted pink.

He sat you up, unclasping your bra with ease and tossing it aside. His palms covered your breasts, so much larger than you they completely hid you from view. You whimpered at the contact, already sensitive.

He grinned, leaning in to close his lips around a nipple, licking and sucking as his free hand squeezed the other. Your breath hitched and your hand curled into his hair, tugging gently. He pulled back with a pop, staring at the glisten he left behind.

He gathered you in his arms, lifting you effortlessly and settling you in his lap. His hands held your tiny frame like you were precious—and his to worship.

His hands explored your body with a reverence that made your breath catch in your throat. There was no hesitation in his touch—no flicker of doubt, no holding back.

His hands roamed the dips and bones of your form like they were familiar territory, but still sacred. With every graze, every stroke of his fingertips, he was learning you again—reminding you that he saw beauty in every line and angle.

His body eclipsed yours completely, long limbs bracketing you on either side as he hovered above, and when he settled down, pressing his chest against yours, it was like being wrapped in a weighted blanket of warmth and muscle and protection.

Niki’s lips moved to your collarbone, mouthing the fragile ridges he found there. “So delicate,” he whispered between kisses, voice thick with something between awe and frustration. “I don’t understand how anyone could say anything about this body except how perfect it is.”

You whimpered as his tongue flicked out to taste your skin, hot and wet against the sensitive spots only he seemed to know. His hands slid down your sides, fingers curling around your tiny waist, spanning it like it was nothing in his grasp. He could probably lift you with one arm if he wanted to—and the thought sent a shiver down your spine.

“I can hold all of you like this,” he murmured, voice gravelly against your ear, his breath hot. “You’re so small I could keep you in my lap forever. Would you like that, baby?”

You nodded, unable to speak, your face buried in his shoulder as your hands clung to the fabric still stretched over his broad back. He sat up with you easily, guiding you to straddle his thighs as he rested back against the headboard. Your knees barely reached the edge of the bed beside him. His hands cradled your hips, thumbs tracing lazy circles into your skin, soothing and possessive.

The lace underwear remained, the last barrier between you and him. He looked down at you, at your exposed chest, at the curve of your ribs, the way your bones created gentle shadows beneath your skin. “You’re art,” he said quietly, running a hand up your spine until you arched into him like instinct. “Not everyone can see it, but I do.”

Then, he leaned in, and his lips wrapped around the other breast, tongue swirling slow circles around your nipple before sucking it into his mouth. You gasped, hips jerking forward into his abdomen. You were so sensitive—so reactive—and he loved every second of it.

You let your head fall back, lips parted, breath coming out in soft, needy gasps. He pulled away only to trail his mouth down your torso, kissing down your ribs, each press of his lips purposeful. He made sure not to skip a single inch of you.

When he reached the waistband of your panties, he looked at you—eyes dark but soft, searching your expression. “Can I?” he asked, his fingers already hooked gently into the lace.

You nodded slowly, heart hammering. “Please…”

He slid them down slowly, savoring the moment like he was unwrapping something fragile and rare. His eyes stayed on you the whole time, making you feel more seen than you ever had in your life. When the last scrap of fabric was gone, he leaned back to take you in fully.

“Fuck…” he exhaled, hand ghosting over your hipbone. “You’re unreal. I didn’t know something this beautiful could fit in my hands.”

His fingers curled deep inside you, slow and deliberate, each stroke drawing a louder moan from your lips. You were soaked—your body clinging to him so tightly, slick and warm, trembling in his lap. Niki groaned low, watching your thighs twitch around his hand.

“You’re fucking soaked, baby,” he breathed, fingers working deeper, his palm grinding against your clit just right. “And all of it’s for me. Just me.”

You were barely holding on, jaw slack, head tilted back. You weren’t hiding the sounds anymore—couldn’t if you tried. Each thrust of his fingers pulled raw, high-pitched moans from your throat, and it only seemed to make him more possessive.

“You’re such a loud little thing now, huh?” he muttered, his tone dark with pride. “What happened to my shy girl?”

You whimpered, hips jerking into his hand, your fingers clawing at his shoulders.

His fingers slid from your core, slick and glistening, and he watched the way your thighs trembled, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. He brought his fingers to his lips and sucked them clean slowly, eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re so sweet,” he murmured, voice husky. “I could taste you for hours.”

Heat bloomed across your chest, but before you could respond, he gently cupped your waist and guided you to shift. There was no urgency, just warmth and care in his touch as he helped you climb into his lap, your knees bracketing his hips. You were trembling, both from what you’d already felt and what you knew was coming.

“You okay?” he asked, hands resting soft and sure on your hips, thumbs brushing circles into your skin.

You nodded, cheeks flushed, your tiny frame looking even smaller straddling his tall, broad figure. “Yeah… I just…”

His hands moved to cradle your face, tilting it up so you’d look at him.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly. “You don’t have to be anything else. I love you just like this.”

Your throat tightened, and before you could say anything, he leaned in and kissed you—slow and sweet, the kind of kiss that made your toes curl. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, breath mingling with yours.

“I want you to take me, just like this,” he whispered. “I want to feel you.”

You bit your lip and reached between you, fingers trembling as you guided him to your entrance. He hissed softly when he felt your heat, his hands never leaving your waist.

And then, slowly—gently—you sank down onto him.

Your mouth parted in a breathy moan as he stretched you open inch by inch. You could feel every part of him, thick and warm and deep inside you. You clung to his shoulders, head falling against his as you tried to catch your breath.

“Shh,” he whispered, hands sliding up your back. “You’re doing so good, baby. You feel like heaven.”

You whimpered softly, voice catching. “It’s so much…”

“I know,” he murmured, brushing your hair back. “But you’re perfect. You’re taking me so well. Just go slow.”

You moved slowly on his lap, hips rolling as you took him deeper with each breath. Niki’s hands never stopped moving—tracing your spine, your waist, brushing over the soft skin of your thighs like he was memorizing every inch of you. His thumbs caressed the dips of your hips like they were his favorite place on earth.

You rested your forehead against his, your small frame trembling with the effort, and he wrapped his arms around you tighter—supporting your weight as you moved.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he murmured, voice thick with awe. “Just let me feel you. Let me love you.”

He took over the rhythm, fucking up into you gently while holding you against him. Every roll of his hips was smooth and unhurried, dragging a soft moan from your throat. The way he filled you—so completely—made you ache in the sweetest way.

Niki’s lips found your neck, pressing kisses there as your hands threaded into his hair. His tongue traced along your pulse point, then lower—his mouth open, warm, leaving soft marks along your collarbone.

Your legs tightened around him, trying to pull him closer even though there was no space left between your bodies. You buried your face in his neck, your gasps louder now—needy and open, every sound echoing off the walls.

And he wanted them to echo.

“Let them hear,” he said, voice rough with desire. “Let them know how good I take care of you. How good you feel when you’re mine.”

He kissed you again, slow and deep, swallowing your moans as he kept moving. His hands slid up your back, curling around your ribs, his fingertips reverent as they explored the curves of your small body. You were everything to him—he couldn’t stop telling you, couldn’t stop showing you.

You gasped as he shifted slightly, the angle hitting that spot inside you just right, your nails digging gently into his skin. His hands came up to cradle your face again, kissing you through every sound you made, soaking up every part of you like he couldn’t get enough.

You felt the pleasure build slowly, beautifully, your body growing tighter around him as your movements grew sloppier, more desperate.

“I’m close,” you whispered, breathless.

“I know, baby. I feel it—let go for me.”

With one deep thrust and a soft cry, you unraveled, clinging to him as your body pulsed around his. Niki held you close, whispering soft praises against your lips.

He chased his own release only after yours had quieted, thrusting up into you with slow, deep rolls, his mouth open against your shoulder.

“Inside you,” he whispered. “I want to finish inside you.”

You nodded, whispering his name, and seconds later he groaned low and deep, spilling into you with a trembling breath. He held you there, buried in your warmth, his body shaking gently from the intensity.

Neither of you moved for a while.

Your head stayed nestled in the curve of his neck, his arms cradling you with quiet reverence. The world outside the room faded—just the two of you, wrapped up in each other.

Gently, he lifted you in his arms and shifted onto the bed, still holding you close as he eased both of you under the blankets. He cleaned you up with careful, tender hands, kissing your thighs, your wrists, your chest—anywhere that had been marked by your love.

You lay against him, tucked into his side under the sheets, still wearing the hoodie he slipped over your head—his scent wrapped around you like the warmth of his arms. Your body was sore in the best ways, skin flushed, lips swollen, and yet your heart was heavier than you thought it would be.

He felt it—knew it, even before you said anything. His hand traced idle patterns on your thigh, fingers brushing over your skin with reverence.

“Talk to me,” he murmured into your hair. You hesitated, pressing your face into his chest. “I just… I didn’t think I’d ever feel like this. Like… someone could want me like this. Like this body is enough.”

Niki leaned back just enough to look at you, his brows drawn, lips parted like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. One of his hands moved down, cupping your thigh, holding it in his palm like it was something delicate and sacred.

“Don’t ever say that again,” he said, low and steady. “You have no idea what it does to me—seeing you like this, knowing you are mine.”

He sat up, pulling you with him gently until you were straddling his lap again. This time it wasn’t frantic or rough—it was slow and quiet, his eyes burning into yours with nothing but awe.

“You’re perfect,” he said, fingers running over your waist, where his hands nearly wrapped around your entire frame. “Your hips… the way they fit in my hands—it drives me insane.”

He let his palms slide up, thumbs brushing over your ribs. “You don’t even realize what it does to me, do you? Every time I see you in my clothes—bare legs out, drowning in my shirt—it’s all I can think about.”

Your breath caught, his words soaking into your skin deeper than any touch.

He tilted your chin up with two fingers. “You’re not ‘too small.’ You’re mine. Every inch of you—from these soft thighs…” his hands squeezed them gently, “to this little waist…” he dragged his palms up your sides again, slower this time, making you shiver, “to these gorgeous tits—” his thumbs brushed over them through the hoodie, making your breath hitch.

“I love your body,” he said, like it was the most obvious truth in the world. “I love how I can lift you, move you. How your whole body reacts when I touch you. And how you feel—wrapped around me, so tight and perfect…”

He leaned in, brushing his lips over yours. “I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

You stared at him, barely breathing, your heart clenching in your chest. He meant it. Every word.

“ki…” you whispered, voice breaking.

His lips touched your forehead. “You’re everything I want. Exactly as you are. I’ll keep showing you that until you believe it.”

And he did.

He kissed you again, soft and slow, and let his hands explore your body like he was memorizing it all over again—every dip, every bone, every shiver. His touches were gentler now but no less intense. Worshipful. Patient.

He didn’t need to prove anything—not anymore. You were already his. And he was going to make sure you never forgot how deeply he adored every inch of you.

[pjmxtra]

HIII I REQUESTED THE NIKI SMUT and it turned out sooooo goodddd thank youuu 🥺🥺🥺

can I request more 🤓☝🏽 reader getting teased by the other members (like friends do but she feels a little off maybe they comment about her being too small for Niki) and Niki comforts her 😭💔 maybe like s*x in the dorms

AHH I’M GLAD YOU DID! you don’t know who much i love you! thank you sm for liking my writing you make me day 💕💕 here’s your request and i hope you continue to request beautiful fics. hope you enjoy my writing if you have any ideas or suggestions i should write pls feel free to send me something!! I LOVE U ANON🫶🏻🫶🏻🙁🙁

[pjmxtra]

୨ৎ ──── HEAVY LOVE

brat tamer!sugar daddy!riki x brat fem!reader, slight choking, hair pulling, degration ≧ᗜ≦ MDNI ! 9OO ish words

reblogs && feedback pls !

You knew you were being a brat. You knew the second you tugged your skirt up a little higher, laughed a little too hard at another man’s joke, that Riki was watching. That calm, sweet tone he always used had vanished mid-dinner. No more pet names. No more soft touches. Just a stiff jaw, a tight grip on your thigh, and that silent fury radiating off him like heat.

The second the valet handed over his keys, you were yanked toward the car without a word. Slammed into the passenger seat. And now—now you were pressed against the window, panting, shaking, your legs trembling from your fifth orgasm and his hand still between your thighs.

“Thought you were cute back there,” Riki sneers, two fingers sliding inside you with ease, soaked from how many times he’s already made you fall apart. “Giggling like a dumb little slut. Flashing your thighs like you’re begging to get fucked in front of the whole damn restaurant.”

“Riki—Riki please, I can’t—” “You can. You just don’t fucking listen.” He leans in, lips brushing your ear, voice low and venomous. “Brats like you don’t get to tap out. You wanted attention? You got it.”

He presses the pad of his thumb against your clit, rubbing slow, torturous circles while his fingers curl deep inside you. “Look at you now. Shaking just from my fucking hand.”

Your vision’s blurry. Legs kicking. You’re soaked, overstimulated, ruined—and he won’t stop. Every time your body jerks away, he grabs your hips and forces you down onto his hand harder. “I used to call you my good girl,” he mutters, eyes dark and hungry. “But good girls don’t act like filthy fucking teases. You want daddy’s money, his time, his cock? Then fucking behave.”

You sob out his name as another orgasm crashes through you, your thighs convulsing. Riki doesn’t slow down. Just leans back, watching you unravel with a cruel smirk and a soaked hand.

“Pathetic,” he mutters. “You’ll take one more. Since you like acting like a whore so much.”

And when you finally beg him to stop—when the pleasure feels like too much, when you’re hiccuping his name, tears staining your cheeks—he finally slows.

Pulls his fingers out, sticky and glistening, and shoves them in your mouth.

“Taste what a little brat like you deserves.”

Oh, this is gonna be a long night.