#d.k. x reader

The Tokyo night hummed with energy—engines revving, neon lights bleeding into the dark like spilled paint, and the unmistakable scent of burnt rubber curling into the air.

You didn’t come to race. You just came to watch.Yet somehow, your eyes kept finding him.

The Drift King

He wasn’t doing anything special when you first saw him—just leaning against his black Nissan 350Z, arms crossed, talking with Morimoto and his little crew. He turned his head slightly when he noticed you watching, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips, and it wasn’t long before he made his way over.

“You’re not from around here,” he said smoothly, his voice low and confident.

“Is it that easy to tell?” you asked, arching a bro

“Only a little.” He glanced back at the car lineup, then at you. “You here for someone, or what ?”

You shrugged. “I like the way the city looks at night.”

That made him smile—just a little. “Then you’re in the right place.”

Morimoto calls him back with urgency. D.K. turns around acknowledging him, then back at you

“See you around.”

—

Cars roared down the mountain pass, one after another. You stood with a borrowed drink in hand, watching the races. And every time you turned, he was there. Not too close. Watching you. The third time you caught him looking, he didn’t bother pretending. He just walked over again.

“You ever gone drifting?”

You smirked. “That a line?”

He chuckled. “Only if it’s working.”

You considered his subtle offer, the lights from the cars casting soft colors across his face. “Maybe. Later.”

“Later,” he echoed, like a promise.

—

The crowd had thinned. The mountain air was cooler now, wrapping around your shoulders as you leaned against the same 350Z you saw earlier. DK stood beside you, keys twirling around his finger. “It’s quieter now,” he said. “You’ll see the city better.”

You nodded. “Alright…. Show me.” You didn’t know what you expected, maybe reckless speed, maybe arrogant stunts, but the way he drove was something else. It was fluid, controlled chaos. Like dancing on the edge of destruction, but never falling in.

He glanced over at you in the passenger seat, his expression cockier than before.

When you reached the top, the city stretched below you like a blanket of stars.

“You don’t talk much,” you said quietly.

“I don’t need to,” he replied. “Not when I know what I want.”

You met his gaze then, more serious now. “And what’s that?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just leaned closer, not quite touching you.“I think you know.”

Your voice was almost a whisper. “Maybe.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Then maybe you’ll come back tomorrow night.” He looked at you in anticipation, “Pass by my shop, we can talk more.” He said with a coy smile.

You looked back at the glittering city, then at him.

“Maybe I will.”

—

The next night, you were back. You told yourself it was just curiosity. You weren’t sure why. Maybe it was the look in his eyes

Han was the one who saw you first when you stepped into the garage.

He raised an eyebrow. “Either you’re lost, or Takashis already gotten under your skin.”

“Maybe I like the cars,” you said coolly knowing you were lying through your teeth.

He laughed. “No one comes here for the cars, not really.” He opened his arms in invitation, “Come! Sit down, have a beer.” he sat back down on the couch with a crowd of women surrounding him. “Mi casa es a su casa!.” He stated barely managing to get the words out.

The girls were lounging around, dressed for the heat, tossing glances your way that weren’t exactly friendly. All of them trying to get Hans attention.

You looked around the shop as you slowly made your way up the stairs towards them. There were hydraulic lifts and dozens of car parts, waiting to find their perfect match. Cars in different stages of repair, with colorful modifications. A garage men would envy.

You spent your time conversating with Han and the girls. Not all of them were bad. Until you heard the sound of a garage door opening and the engine of a certain car.

D.K. pulledinto the garage. Your eyes meeting through the windshield. A slight look of surprise washing over his face.

D.K. got out of the car slamming his door shut and made his way towards you. He gave Han a quick glance, in acknowledgment.

“You came,” he said, voice low.

You shrugged. “You made a decent case.”

He stepped closer, and this time, his fingers brushed your wrist. Light at first, then a little firmer—testing your boundaries.

You didn’t pull away.

“Come with me,” he said.

You stood up, feeling the stares of everyone as you followed him closely.

“USE PROTECTION!” exclaimed Han as you both walked into the hallway, hearing his laugh fade as it closed. You could only imagine his face. You slowly shook your head in embarrassment.

D.K. walked you through a maze of small hallways away from the garage, past the shimmer of vending machines and roooms filled with parties. The hum of the music faded behind you, replaced by a low, private kind of silence.

The door at the end of the hallways was cracked open. Warm light spilled out, along with low music and the faint scent of leather and motor oil.

His expression was unreadable, but the glint in his eyes told you he’d been waiting.

“You look good,” he murmured.

You tilted your head, letting him in just a little closer. “You say that to every girl who shows up twice?”

“No,” he said, stepping into your space, his palm resting on your hip. “Just the ones I want to see again.”

Morimoto walked into the office unannounced , his face tight. He said something sharp in Japanese. DK’s expression shifted. Cold. Calculating. And that’s when it clicked. The low whispers and rumors of what D.K. was in involved with were true.

Yakuza.

You watched DK speak with him, voice low, clipped. Her handed D.K. an envelope, he opened, it was filled with cash. However they got it, it wasn’t friendly.

You didn’t speak. You just watched as Morimoto left the room after their exchange. “You’re involved in some heavy shit” you said finally.

He turned, running a hand through his hair. “You didn’t come here for a safe ride.”

Confirming your suspicions.

He stepped toward you again, slower this time. Watching for your reaction.

“No,” you admitted. “I didn’t.”

He didn’t flinch. “That’s part of who I am.”

You turned to look at him. “And you’re proud of it.”

I’m good with what gets me ahead. What about you?” His voice dropped a little, eyes locked on yours. “You here looking for a fairytale?”His hand slid to your thigh. His fingers curled a little tighter.

“I built this,” he said, voice low. “Everything I have, everything I run. No apologies.”

You didn’t say anything. Because you didn’t hate it. That was the worst part.

You should’ve been scared. But instead, your pulse quickened, and you leaned in closer. “I’m just here for a good time,” you said.

He looked at you, eyes dark. “I don’t want forever.”

One moment you were breathing in the heat between you, the next his hands were on your hips, your back was pressed against the desk. He kissed you like he’d been holding it back all day—like he had something to prove. Your hands tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer, letting the heat swallow you whole.

It wasn’t rushed, but it wasn’t sweet, either. It was the kiss of two people who didn’t owe each other anything. Hungry, electric. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer, and you let him.

When you finally broke apart, you didn’t move far. He rested his forehead against yours. You didn’t care who he was. Not tonight.

His thumb traced a lazy line over your lower lip “You should stay,” he murmured.

You looked at him. “For how long?”

A slow smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Until the thrill runs out.”