#nikixblackreader

pairing : niki x black!fem!reader — genre : smut and fluff , slow burn kind of — requested: no - warnings: a lil nasty

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The sun dipped low over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink as Enhypen's private jet touched down on the secluded airstrip of Isla Paradiso, a luxurious beach cabana resort accessible only to the elite. The group—Heeseung, Jay, Jake, Sunghoon, Sunoo, Jungwon, and Niki—had been granted this exclusive getaway as a reward for their grueling world tour. Palm trees swayed gently in the breeze, and the air hummed with the promise of relaxation. Niki, the youngest at 20, felt a thrill of freedom as they piled into golf carts that whisked them to their oceanfront cabanas.

That night, the resort's club pulsed with low-key energy—soft reggae beats mixing with the crash of waves, fairy lights strung between cabanas, and a crowd of affluent guests mingling under the stars. Niki slipped away from his members, craving a moment alone. He leaned against the bar, sipping a virgin piña colada, when he noticed her. Yn, with her rich brown skin glowing under the lights, laughed with a small group of friends. Her curls cascaded down her back, and her sundress hugged her curves in a way that made his pulse quicken. She caught his eye, and something electric passed between them.

Emboldened, Niki approached. "Mind if I join? I'm Niki," he said, his voice smooth despite the nerves fluttering in his chest. Yn turned, her full lips curving into a smile that lit up her dark eyes. "Yn. And sure, the more the merrier." They talked effortlessly—about the island's hidden coves, her love for spontaneous adventures, his passion for dance. Laughter flowed as easily as the drinks, and soon the music pulled them to the dance floor. Niki extended his hand, and Yn took it, her fingers warm against his. They moved together to the rhythmic sway of the bass, bodies brushing close in the humid night air. His hand settled on her waist, guiding her hips as she rolled against him, the friction sending sparks through his veins. She laughed when he spun her playfully, her curls whipping around, and he pulled her back in, their chests pressing together. The dance was intimate, charged with unspoken desire, her breath hot on his neck as they grinded slowly, lost in the moment.

"Walk with me?" Niki asked as the club thinned out. Yn nodded, and they strolled along the moonlit beach, toes sinking into the warm sand. Conversation turned personal—dreams, fears, the loneliness of fame for him, the thrill of travel for her. At his cabana door, the tension snapped. He pulled her close, lips brushing hers tentatively at first, then deepening as she melted into him. "Come inside," he murmured against her mouth.

The cabana was a haven of luxury: king-sized bed draped in white linens, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sea, the sound of waves a constant lullaby. Niki's hands roamed her body slowly, unzipping her dress with reverence, letting it pool at her feet. She stood before him in lace panties, her full breasts bare and inviting. He traced the curve of her hips, his breath hitching. "You're so beautiful," he whispered, kissing down her neck, across her collarbone. His tongue flicked over her nipple, drawing a soft gasp from her as he sucked gently, then harder, feeling it pebble under his mouth.

Yn tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head to reveal his toned chest, the result of endless dance practices. They undressed each other piece by piece, skin meeting skin in the dim lamplight. Niki guided her to the bed, laying her on her stomach, his lips trailing kisses along her spine. He paused to massage her shoulders, thumbs kneading the tension away, before his hands slid lower, cupping her ass and spreading her cheeks slightly. His hard cock pressed against her thigh as he ground slowly, building the heat. "God, your skin is perfect," he said, voice husky. His fingers dipped between her thighs, finding her wet pussy, stroking her folds until she moaned softly. He circled her clit with deliberate pressure, then slipped two fingers inside, curling them to hit that spot that made her buck against the mattress.

"You like that, pretty?" Niki asked, pumping his fingers slowly, his thumb rubbing her clit in tandem. Yn nodded into the pillow, her hips lifting to meet his hand. He withdrew, positioning himself behind her, the tip of his cock teasing her entrance. He entered her inch by inch, savoring the tight warmth enveloping him, pausing halfway to let her adjust, kissing the small of her back. Yn arched her back, pushing back to take him deeper, and he groaned at the sensation. Niki set a slow rhythm, thrusting deep and deliberate, his hands gripping her hips. "Fuck, you feel amazing," he groaned, leaning down to kiss her shoulder. Each stroke was sensual, his body covering hers, the slap of skin muffled by the sheets. He pulled her up slightly onto her knees, one hand sliding to her clit, circling it as he fucked her from behind, the angle letting him hit deeper.

"You sound so sexy when you moan like that," Niki praised, his pace steady, drawing out her pleasure. Yn gasped, her walls clenching around his cock. "Pretty girl, taking me so well." His words washed over her like the tide, making her tremble. He varied his thrusts—long and slow, then short and teasing—watching her ass jiggle with each movement. Sweat slicked their bodies, and he reached around to pinch her nipple, rolling it between his fingers. The intimacy built languidly, breaths mingling as he nipped at her earlobe. "Tell me how it feels," he urged, his voice low and commanding.

"So good... so full," Yn whimpered, grinding back against him. Niki's hand returned to her clit, rubbing faster now, matching the building intensity. She cried out, her body tensing. "Daddy, please... harder." The word slipped out in the heat, and Niki's eyes darkened with lust. "That's it, baby," he murmured, increasing his thrusts just enough, pounding deeper without losing the sensual roll of his hips. He felt her pussy fluttering, close to the edge. "Come for me, pretty. Cream on my shit," he growled, the dirty command pushing her over.

Yn shattered with a cry, her pussy pulsing around his cock, juices coating him as she came hard. Niki kept thrusting through her orgasm, prolonging it until she was shaking. Only then did he let go, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled inside her, filling her with hot cum, his groans mixing with hers. They collapsed together, tangled and spent, his arms wrapping around her as the waves sang them to sleep.

The next morning, Niki woke alone, the sheets cool where Yn had been. Panic flickered—he hadn't gotten her number in the haze of passion. He threw on shorts and a tee, heart racing as he stepped out into the morning sun. First, he checked the beach path they'd walked, scanning the shoreline for any sign of her, but it was empty save for early joggers. Disappointment gnawed at him, so he headed to the resort's main dining area, weaving through tables laden with tropical breakfasts. He asked the waiter discreetly, "Have you seen a woman with long curls, maybe in a sundress? We met last night." The man shook his head, and Niki moved on, frustration building.

Next, the infinity pool—its edge blending seamlessly with the ocean. He circled the loungers, peering at every face, his members spotting him from afar and calling out jokes about his 'mystery girl.' Niki ignored them, checking the spa entrance nearby, where guests emerged wrapped in towels. Nothing. By mid-morning, sweat beaded on his forehead from the heat and anxiety. He rented a bike and pedaled to the quieter coves, stopping at each to search the sands and hammocks strung between palms. His mind replayed the night—her laugh, her touch—fueling his determination. Lunchtime found him at the beach bar, nursing a coconut water while grilling the bartender. "Dark skin, beautiful smile?" Still no luck.

Afternoon dragged as he hit the yoga pavilion, the snorkeling dock, even the small boutique shop for souvenirs. His phone buzzed with texts from Jay asking where he was, but Niki silenced it, focused. Finally, as the sun climbed high, he approached the infinity pool again, determined for one last sweep. There she was, lounging with a book, her bikini accentuating her curves. Relief flooded him as he approached. "Hey, stranger. Thought I lost you."

Yn looked up, surprise melting into a grin. "Niki! I didn't want to wake you." They spent the rest of the day together—snorkeling in crystal waters, sharing fresh fruit under a cabana, talking about everything and nothing. As the sun set, their hands intertwined, and the flirtation deepened into something real. "Last night was incredible," Niki confessed over dinner, his thumb stroking her palm. "But this... getting to know you... it's even better."

Yn's heart swelled. "I feel it too." The remaining days blurred into a romantic haze: lazy mornings in bed, exploring hidden lagoons, stolen kisses under the stars. They shared stories of their lives—his idol struggles, her dreams of writing travel blogs. Laughter and touches wove them closer, turning lust into affection.

When the trip ended, the goodbye at the airstrip was bittersweet. "This isn't the end," Niki promised, pulling her into a fierce hug. "Text me every day?" Yn nodded, tears pricking her eyes as she watched his plane lift off.

Back in their separate countries—him in Seoul, her in the States—they kept their word. Late-night calls turned into video dates, flirty texts into heartfelt confessions. "I miss your laugh," he'd say, or "Can't stop thinking about that beach." Weeks stretched into months, but the connection only grew.

Finally, Niki couldn't wait any longer. He arranged a surprise: a first-class ticket to Korea. When Yn stepped off the plane at Incheon, he was there, flowers in hand, his smile brighter than the city lights. "Welcome home," he said, kissing her deeply.

• pairing : niki x black!fem!reader — genre : fluff, fiends to lovers — requested: no - warnings: none

This might be my fav thing I’ve written so far lols

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It started like any other night for YN. She had her coily hair all over head due to her knocking out immediately after coming home from her classes , headset snug over her ears, controller in hand. PUBG was her escape after long days of college and work. Tonight she loaded into a squad match with randoms, not expecting much—half the time, people quit before the game even started.

As the plane roared across the map, a voice suddenly crackled through her headset.

“Where you dropping?”

The voice was male, low but not deep, with a youthful energy to it. YN glanced at the screen—her teammate’s name was simply Riki.

“Uh… Pochinki,” she said, marking the map.

“Good choice. You sound like you actually know what you’re doing,” he teased.

YN smirked. “Better than you, probably.”

That was the beginning.

They jumped together, landing on the rooftops of Pochinki. Immediately, gunfire popped off around them.

“On your left, two guys!” Niki’s voice rang sharp through her headset.

“I see them,” YN replied, scrambling for loot. She picked up a UMP45, grabbed a quick vest, and peeked the window. Bullets cracked against the wall.

“I’ll distract,” he said. Before she could argue, he sprinted across the street, firing a pistol wildly.

“Are you crazy?!” she yelled, but it worked—the enemies turned toward him, giving her the angle. She sprayed, downing one, then the other.

“Chicken!” he shouted in victory as she finished the squad.

YN laughed despite herself. “You’re reckless.”

“Yeah, but we won, didn’t we?”

That one game turned into another. And another. Before long, YN and Niki were playing together almost every night. They didn’t talk about real life much; it was mostly callouts, laughs, and random conversations about snacks or music in the background.

“WHO told you to drive here?!” he groaned as grenades exploded around them.

“Relax! I got this.” She swerved, gunned the car forward, and somehow made it through.

When they finally won the match, the words Winner Winner Chicken Dinner splashed across the screen. Both of them shouted in unison, laughing like kids.

“Not bad,” he said between breaths. “You’re better than most people I play with.”

“Same. I might just keep you around,” she teased

This was the first time she played with Niki but she felt like the duo they had created was unmatched she hated to admit it but He wasn’t just good at the game—he was fun. They laughed when one of them got knocked, celebrated chicken dinners like it was the World Cup, and before either of them realized, hours had flown by.

When the match ended, instead of logging off, Niki sent her a friend request. YN accepted without hesitation.

The only thing YN knew was that he lived in Korea. He never said his age, his school, or what he did outside the game. Sometimes he disappeared for a day or two, and when she asked, he’d just say, “Busy.”

She didn’t push.

After months of playing together, YN finally got tired of the mystery.

“Okay, Niki, I gotta ask you something,” she said one night after they had just won a match. “Why do you keep disappearing? Like… sometimes you’re just gone. No text, no game, nothing. Then you pop up like you never left.”

For the first time, the line went quiet. He didn’t crack a joke or dodge. He just sighed.

“You’re right. I owe you an explanation,” he admitted. “But I can’t… not here. Not like this.”

YN tilted her head. “What do you mean ‘not like this’?”

“Just not now maybe later , okay?” He asked and even though her brain was begging her to get to the bottom of this all , she dropped it

One night after a clutch win, he asked casually, “You got Instagram?”

YN hesitated but gave him her handle. He followed her the next day. His account was strange—barely any posts, mostly moody aesthetic pictures and one blurry shot of him on stage somewhere. She didn’t think much of it.

“You’re cute,” he told her once while they were looting in-game.

Her cheeks warmed. “Shut up and grab the ammo.”

Two days later they were supposed to play … nothing Yn waited hours by her computer , she even texted him on instagram and nothing. Finally after 2 more days he came back around.

By the time he came back, YN was annoyed.

“You keep disappearing like a magician,” she muttered through her mic.

He was quiet for a beat. Then, softly: “I want to tell you something. But… not here. Can we FaceTime?”

Her stomach flipped. She hesitated but agreed.

When the FaceTime connected, YN nearly dropped her phone.

The boy staring back wasn’t just cute. He looked polished—almost too polished, like he had been styled. His smile was shy, but his features were striking.

“Hey,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “So… I should probably explain.”

YN frowned. “Explain what?”

“I’m an idol,” he admitted. “I’m in a group. Enhypen.”

She blinked, confused. “A… what?”

He chuckled nervously. “A K-pop idol. Singer. Dancer. That’s why I disappear sometimes—I have schedules, rehearsals…”

YN tilted her head. “I don’t… know what K-pop is.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

“Really. Never heard of you. Enhypen?” She tested the word on her tongue.

He let out a laugh of disbelief. “Wow. You’re probably the first person I’ve met who didn’t know.”

After they hung up that night, YN couldn’t help it—curiosity got the better of her. She typed Enhypen Niki into YouTube.

Videos flooded her screen—music videos with millions of views, live performances with screaming crowds, interviews where Niki looked worlds apart from the laid-back gamer she knew. He danced with precision, his stage presence magnetic.

YN sat back in her chair, stunned. She had spent months gaming with him, teasing him, calling him reckless… and all this time, he was famous.

She shook her head with a disbelieving smile. “What did I just get myself into?”

The next day, she didn’t mention the videos. When they played again, she treated him the same—laughing at his bad driving, yelling at him to revive her faster, joking about who carried the team.

And that was exactly what Niki needed. For the first time in his busy idol life, someone wasn’t treating him like a celebrity. Just… a friend.

And for YN, the mystery of who he really was only made their connection more intriguing.

Little by little, game by game, message by message, their bond deepened. Not rushed. Not forced. Just a slow burn, lit one match at a time.

The morning after YN’s YouTube spiral, she woke up with her phone still open to a fancam of Niki dancing on stage. The contrast between the boy who panicked when they got third-partied in PUBG and the boy who commanded arenas across the world made her head spin.

All day, she kept asking herself the same thing: Should I treat him differently now?

That night, she logged in, headset crackling to life.

“Ready?” Niki asked, like nothing had changed.

“Yeah,” she said, forcing her voice steady.

But the whole first match, she found herself staring at his gamertag, distracted. She didn’t know whether to tease him like usual or keep it toned down. Finally, after he accidentally ran their car off a cliff, the words slipped out:

“You dance better than you drive.”

The silence lasted a beat before he burst into laughter. “Oh my god, you did watch the videos.”

YN groaned. “Don’t make it a big deal.”

“Then don’t make me a big deal,” he said gently. “I’m still me.”

That broke the ice.

It started with memes—he’d send random ones at 3 a.m. Korean time, and she’d reply when she woke up in Texas. Then came playlists.

“Tell me what you’re listening to,” he texted one afternoon.

She snapped a screenshot of her Spotify queue: Brent Faiyaz, Summer Walker, Lauryn Hill, and SZA.

His reply came fast: Wait… you listen to R&B too?

YN grinned at her screen. Too? You listen to this?

Yeah, he wrote. American R&B is my favorite. Brent’s voice >>>>.

She froze for a second. She didn’t expect that. “You listen to Brent?” she whispered aloud to herself before quickly typing back: Stop. You lying.

I swear, he insisted. “Clouded” is on repeat. Don’t test me.

YN laughed out loud in her room. For the first time, she felt their worlds overlap.

Still, there were limits.

When she asked what his day looked like, he’d answer vaguely. “Practice.” Or “Work.” When she pushed further, he’d change the subject.

And sometimes, just like before, he vanished—no text, no warning.

The difference now was that she cared. She’d stare at their chat, thumb hovering, wondering if she should double text or wait.

Finally, one evening, she cracked.

“You always disappear,” she wrote. “You know it makes me feel like I don’t matter, right?”

The message sat unread for hours, then a day. Just when she convinced herself she’d been ghosted, her phone lit up with a FaceTime call. His face appeared, lit by the glow of a dim room. His hair was damp, like he’d just showered, his hoodie slipping off one shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately. “I’m not good at balancing… everything. The stage. The schedules. And you.”

YN blinked. “Me?”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “You’re the only part of my life that feels… normal. I don’t want to lose that.”

The vulnerability in his voice caught her off guard. He wasn’t Niki the idol in that moment—he was just Niki, the boy she laughed with over bad driving and late-night memes.

“Then don’t disappear,” she said quietly.

He nodded. “I’ll try. For you.”

Her chest tightened. She didn’t know what this was between them, but she knew it was something. Something growing slow and steady, like a fire catching in the dark.

It happened again.

Niki disappeared.

At first, YN brushed it off. He’d been busy before, but this time stretched longer than usual. Days turned into over a week. The texts she sent sat on “delivered.” The PUBG invite button stayed gray.

She told herself not to care—he was just a friend from a video game. But the silence hurt more than it should have.

Late at night, she found herself putting on the R&B playlist they made together. Brent’s voice filled her room, and she thought about the boy on the other side of the world who swore he wouldn’t vanish again. Then one night—almost 2 a.m. for her—her phone lit up with his name.

She answered without hesitation. “Really?” Her voice cracked with equal parts relief and irritation.

He looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, hair tucked under a cap. He gave her a sheepish smile. “I know. I messed up.”

“You think?” she shot back. “I thought we were friends, Niki. Friends don’t just disappear.”

“I know,” he said, rubbing his face. “We’re on tour. I didn’t know how to tell you… I didn’t want you to feel like I was choosing the group over you.”

Her anger softened at that. He looked so drained, so much like a boy in over his head.

“You don’t have to hide things from me,” she said quietly. “If you’re busy, just say that. I’ll understand.”

He nodded, voice low. “I’ll do better. I promise.”

A week later, she got a text at midnight.

Are you awake?

YN rubbed her eyes, replying: Barely.

Check your city’s arena schedule, he sent.

Confused, she pulled up the website. Right there, bold on the homepage: Enhypen World Tour — Dallas.

Her breath caught. Wait. You’re here?

Yeah, he replied. And I want to see you.

Hours later, under the cover of night, YN found herself walking into the back entrance of a sleek downtown hotel. Her heart pounded with every step. Niki had sent her a room number and told her to knock softly.

When the door opened, she almost forgot how to breathe. He was standing there in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, looking less like a superstar and more like the boy she’d laughed with on late-night calls.

“You came,” he said softly.

“You told me to,” she replied, trying to hide how nervous she was.

He let her in. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the city outside the window. They sat on opposite ends of the couch at first, awkwardly stealing glances. Finally, he broke the silence.

“This is… crazy, right?” he asked.

“Insane,” she admitted. “You’re supposed to be some superstar, and here you are sneaking me into your hotel.”

He laughed at that, the sound easing her nerves. “I wanted to meet you. For real. Not through a screen.”

The hotel room was dim, lit only by a lamp in the corner and the soft glow of the city lights spilling through the curtains. YN sat curled into the couch, legs tucked beneath her, while Niki leaned forward in the armchair across from her, elbows resting on his knees.

They had been talking for nearly an hour already—about everything and nothing. Their voices were low, like they didn’t want the moment to break.

At one point, the laughter faded, and Niki went quiet. His hands fidgeted with the drawstrings of his hoodie, twisting them nervously.

“I should say this,” he began, eyes dropping to the floor. “I know I keep disappearing on you. Going ghost. And I’m… really sorry.”

YN tilted her head. “I mean, I get that you’re busy, but it does… hurt sometimes.”

He nodded quickly, guilt flashing across his face. “I know. I just—” He paused, chewing on the inside of his cheek before forcing himself to continue. “The truth is… I’ve never really had a girlfriend before. Or even time for one. Everything’s always been schedules, training, traveling… I don’t know how to do this right.”

YN blinked at him, surprised by the raw honesty in his tone. “You’ve never dated anyone?”

“Not seriously,” he admitted with a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “So when I talk to you, when I feel like I’m getting close to you, sometimes I panic. I don’t know if I should back away or… try harder. So I mess it up. I disappear.”

Her chest softened at his confession. She leaned forward slightly. “You don’t have to have it all figured out, Niki. I’m not asking for perfect. I just don’t want you to shut me out.”

He finally looked up, eyes meeting hers, and something in his expression shifted—less guarded, more vulnerable. “I don’t want to shut you out either. You’re… different. You make me feel like I can just be me, not ‘Niki from Enhypen.’ Just… Riki.”

The room felt heavier with the weight of his words. YN’s pulse quickened, but she smiled softly. “Then maybe stop disappearing and let me be there. Even if it’s just as your friend.”

A small smile tugged at his lips, and he nodded. “Okay. I’ll try. For real this time.”

Silence stretched between them, warm instead of awkward. Slowly, carefully, Niki shifted from the armchair to the couch, sitting close enough that their shoulders brushed.

Their conversation drifted back into easier topics—music, funny stories, little things about their lives—but that vulnerable moment lingered, hanging in the air like a thread pulling them closer.

When he finally leaned in, pressing a shy, tentative kiss to her lips, it wasn’t rushed. It was soft. Hesitant. A promise more than anything else.

“Slow burn,” YN whispered when they pulled back, both smiling nervously.

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pairing : niki x black!fem!reader — genre : fluff, just major fluff, slow burn , older reader — requested: no - warnings: none, just a very dedicated yearning Ni-ki

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I can still smell the studio from the first day I met Konon—clean wood floors, faint lemon disinfectant, the bass thumping softly through the walls. My mom had signed me up for dance classes to help me adjust after our move to Japan for the military. I didn’t want to go, but she said it would help me “settle in.” I felt anything but settled.

I stood by the mirror, pretending to stretch, when a girl with a high ponytail and bright eyes walked up to me.

“Hi! I’m Konon. You’re new, right? Want to be my partner?”

Her voice was warm, her smile easy, and that was all it took. By the end of class, we were laughing through every missed step. She introduced me to lemon tea from the vending machine, and by the end of the week, she’d invited me to her house.

That’s where I met Niki.

He peeked around the corner mid-dance practice, pretending not to stare. “Konon, who’s that?”

“This is Y/N,” she said. “My new friend. Don’t bother us.”

He ignored her, his curious eyes wide. “You dance really good.”

I laughed. “Thanks, kid.”

From then on, every Saturday turned into a routine — class, vending machine tea, and practice at Konon’s house with her siblings popping in and out. Misora, the youngest, always wanted her hair braided, and Niki always wanted to “show me his new moves.”

He’d spin around the living room, arms flailing until he fell over, then look up grinning. “Did I do it right?”

“Almost,” I’d laugh, helping him up. “You’ll get it.”

Konon rolled her eyes. “Don’t encourage him!”

But I did. Every week.

Their parents treated me like family. Their mom always insisted I eat more, and their dad told endless stories that made everyone laugh until they cried. I never said it out loud, but their home became the first place in Japan that felt like home to me too.

⸻

Years passed like changing seasons.

By the time I turned sixteen, Niki was fourteen — still lanky and energetic but different somehow. Taller. More confident.

Sometimes he’d wander into the studio when Konon and I practiced. “Show me that turn again,” he’d say, pretending it was casual.

I’d adjust his stance, my hand brushing his shoulder. “Here, engage your core, not your arm.”

He’d freeze — not because he didn’t understand, but because he didn’t want to move.

We both pretended not to notice.

One night after dinner, we sat outside on the swings. The air smelled like summer — damp grass and the faint sweetness of night flowers. The moonlight made everything feel quieter.

“Y/N,” he said suddenly, “can I tell you something?”

I hummed. “Sure.”

“I think I like you.”

The words dropped like pebbles into a still pond.

He kept staring forward, voice small but steady. “Not like a crush that goes away. I mean, I like you.”

I froze, heart thudding. He was only fourteen. I was sixteen. And beyond that—he was Konon’s brother.

“You’ll meet someone better,” I said softly.

He frowned. “What does that mean?”

“It means you’re younger. And I’m… different.” I hesitated. “You deserve someone who makes sense for you.”

He turned toward me. “You make sense to me.”

That line stayed with me for years.

But I still stood up, pretending I needed to help Konon with dishes.

I didn’t look back.

A week later, my parents got transferred again. I left Japan without saying goodbye properly.

⸻

Military life moved me around like luggage with no destination. I tried to stay in touch with Konon, and we messaged every few months. Misora sent photos, and Niki… his texts were quieter. Random.

“Good luck on your exams.”

“Look at this sunset.”

“Remember that dance you taught me?”

Each message felt like a thread, tying me to something I wasn’t ready to let go of.

When I was nineteen, Konon called me one night.

“Y/N, you’re coming to visit this summer. No excuses. We miss you.”

And I said yes before I could think twice.

⸻

The streets of their neighborhood hadn’t changed much.

The same shop signs, the same little park, even the same house with flowers spilling over the gate. My heart thudded as I stood at the door.

Konon opened it first, nearly tackling me in a hug. “You look the same! Well, older, but still you.”

Then a familiar voice from inside:

“Did you really come all this way without telling me first?”

I turned. And there he was.

Niki.

Older. Taller. His hair slightly longer, his voice deeper.

He leaned against the wall with a knowing half-smile. “You still remember me?”

I laughed, trying not to stare. “As if you’d let me forget.”

The evening was full of noise and warmth — Konon telling stories, Misora showing dance videos, their parents insisting I eat until I couldn’t move.

Their mom kept refilling my bowl. “You’ve gotten too thin! Eat, eat.”

Their dad teased, “You say that to everyone.”

Konon rolled her eyes. “It’s her love language.”

And Niki? He just smiled quietly across the table. Every time I laughed, he looked like he was memorizing the sound.

When their mom caught us locking eyes, she smiled knowingly. “It’s good to have you back, Y/N. The house feels full again.”

I smiled. “It feels like I never left.”

⸻

That night, after everyone went to bed, I couldn’t sleep. I stepped outside to the balcony, breathing in the quiet.

“You always liked the balcony,” a voice said behind me.

I turned. “You always liked sneaking up on me.”

He chuckled softly, walking to stand beside me. The space between us felt smaller than it used to.

“I meant what I said back then,” he said quietly. “I never stopped liking you.”

The words hit harder than I expected. “You were fourteen, Niki. You didn’t even know what that meant.”

He turned toward me, serious now. “Maybe not then. But I do now.”

I didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted to laugh it off again, to protect the memory of what we were. But another part of me — the one that remembered the way he used to look at me even as a kid — knew he was telling the truth.

He took a small step closer. “Do you still see me the same way?”

I swallowed hard. “No.”

His eyes softened. “Good.”

Silence fell between us, the kind that hums.

He reached up and brushed a curl away from my face, his touch gentle, careful. “You used to call me cute.”

I smiled faintly. “You were cute.”

“Still am,” he teased, his voice low.

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”

But when I looked up, he was already looking at me — really looking. The kind of look that feels like a confession.

He leaned in slowly, giving me time to move away. I didn’t.

The first touch was hesitant — the kind of kiss that asks a question. My heart answered before my mind could catch up.

When we finally pulled away, the air felt lighter somehow.

He smiled. “Guess I finally grew up enough for you to see me.”

I laughed softly, still catching my breath. “Guess you did.”

⸻

We didn’t say anything for a while. Just stood there, listening to the wind move through the trees.

He reached for my hand, threading his fingers through mine. “You know,” he said quietly, “I used to think you’d disappear again before I got the chance to tell you.”

“Not this time,” I said.

And as the first light of morning stretched across the sky, I realized how strange and beautiful it was — how the boy who used to chase me around the living room had somehow become the person I was finally ready to stop running from.

The next few days blurred into sunlight and music.

Konon dragged all of us to a community showcase where her students performed; somehow she convinced Niki and me to help set up chairs. When the crowd thinned after the last dance, we stayed behind sweeping confetti off the floor, laughing every time the broom bristles stuck with static.

On the walk home, the air smelled like grilled food from a nearby stall. Misora skipped ahead. Their dad called after her, “Careful, it’s slippery!”

Their mom fell into step beside me. “It’s good to see you with them again,” she said in the gentle English she’d practiced for years. “You and Niki always had… how to say… matching hearts.”

I blinked. “You noticed that?”

She smiled, eyes crinkling. “Of course. Parents notice everything.”

At dinner that night their dad joined in, half-teasing, half-serious. “We used to joke you two would end up partners one day—either dancing or in life. Looks like we weren’t so wrong, hm?”

Konon choked on her rice. “Dad!”

But he only laughed, waving his chopsticks. “I said what I said.”

I hid my face, cheeks warm, and caught Niki’s grin across the table. It wasn’t smug—just soft, like a shared secret suddenly not so secret anymore.

Later, as the dishes clattered in the sink and everyone drifted off to bed, Niki found me by the sliding door. The night hum of cicadas filled the pause between us.

“They really said that,” he murmured, still smiling.

I shrugged, pretending to inspect the stars. “Guess they knew before we did.”

He reached for my hand, fingers brushing mine. “Then I guess we don’t have to keep pretending it’s a surprise.”

I laughed quietly. “Guess not.”

The house behind us glowed faintly through the paper windows, voices fading into the steady rhythm of family. Out here, the summer air was warm against my skin, and for the first time in years I felt perfectly placed—like the long journey had been leading right back to this porch, this laugh, this moment.

Niki squeezed my hand once. “Home feels different when you’re in it.”

And it did.

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• pairing : niki x black!fem!reader — genre : fluff, established relationship — requested: no - warnings: none really, kissing, nicknames, joking around ——

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Y/N pov.

My crew—Velocity—has been dancing together forever. Ari pops like she’s got electricity in her fingertips, Jaylen moves like water, Maya’s sweet but a beast on stage, and Chris? He’s our hype man, loud, ridiculous, always cracking jokes.

When we got the email saying we’d be ENHYPEN’s backup dancers in LA, I reread it three times. ENHYPEN. And yes, I’m a fan. Not screaming-at-the-hotel kind, but I’ve got their songs on my playlist, and I might’ve rewatched some fancams. My crew doesn’t know that.

⸻

Niki’s POV

I push the door open, expecting chaos. Then I see her. She’s stretching near the mirrors, pulling her thick, curly hair into a messy bun. Loose curls spring around her face. Sunlight pours through the windows, warming her brown skin—like chocolate catching the light. She’s gorgeous, confident, approachable. My nerves spike. I try to focus, but my eyes keep drifting back.

⸻

The managers go around introducing everyone. “This is Y/N,” one says. “Co-captain of Velocity. She’s half Korean, so feel free to speak Korean—she’s comfortable switching between English and Korean.”

After the managers introduce her she gives us all a warm smile, probably the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen and I realized I might actually be able to converse with the other dancers this time. No need to overthink just dance.

⸻

Y/N POV

I scramble to skip it. “Uh—haha, random playlist!” Ari smirks knowingly, Jake grins. “Nice taste,” he teases. Cheeks flaming, I skip to the next song.

⸻

Rehearsal & Nerves

We get into Future Perfect formation. Niki is next to me, dancing sharp, smooth. I try to keep focus, but it’s hard. He glances at me; I pretend to check my phone.

Later, Jake whispers, “Niki wants to talk to you but he’s nervous—his English isn’t perfect.”

Next break, Jake wingmans. “He wants you to teach him isolations after rehearsal.”

Niki’s half-hiding in his hoodie, cheeks pink. I smile and, without thinking, switch to Korean:

“그럼 같이 연습할래요?” (Then do you want to practice together?)

He freezes. “You… speak Korean?”

“Yeah,” I say. “Dad’s Korean. I lived in Busan until eleven, then moved here with my mom. Mom’s Black American—so I grew up eating collard greens and mac & cheese while learning Korean lullabies from Dad. I can switch between languages easily.”

His face relaxes. “Ah… I get it now.”

⸻

After Practice – TikTok Moment

Chris yells, “You two should make a TikTok!”

We set up the phone, pick a trending dance. He’s stiff at first, but by the second take, we nail it.

Then he blurts, shy, “You’re… really pretty.”

I grin, teasing, “You come off confident on stage, but you’re kind of awkwardly adorable.”

He shakes his head, laughs nervously. I grin back.

⸻

Backstage Before the Show

Show week. Everyone’s warming up. I quietly shuffle my playlist—some classic R&B, some hip-hop from my childhood. Yep, Drunk-Dazed pops up again.

Niki stops behind me. “Ah… you like this song, huh?”

I roll my eyes. “It’s… catchy.”

He smirks. “Catchy? You know all the moves.”

“I do not—” But I copy his moves instinctively.

“See?” he says in Korean, leaning closer. “팬이네.” (You’re a fan.)

My face warms. “Maybe. Just a little.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “좋아. 난 그게 좋아.” (Good. I like that.)

When we head on stage, the way he looks back before running to his spot… yeah. Definitely in trouble.

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• pairing : niki x black!fem!reader — genre : fluff, — requested: yes! - warnings: none literally just reader and Niki being adorable!

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After sound check and rehearsal, the atmosphere backstage is surprisingly chill. Everyone is sprawled on couches, stretching, laughing, or scrolling through their phones. Our crew starts playing around, making TikToks with ENHYPEN between songs and practice moves. Chris insists on trying every trending challenge, Ari is perfecting a short routine with Jake, and Maya and Sunoo are quietly debating which snack is better—chips or chocolate.

I’m sitting on the edge of the couch, scrolling through my playlist when Niki plops down next to me, hoodie slightly pulled over his eyes. He nudges me with his shoulder. “Teach me that move again?” he whispers, pointing at a small foot shuffle I’d done during rehearsal.

I laugh, showing him slowly, hand lightly brushing his arm as I guide him. He frowns in concentration, then smirks when he finally nails it. “You make it look easy,” he mutters. I roll my eyes, teasing, “Of course I do. I’m talented.”

He grins, and I catch the faintest blush creeping up his cheeks. Later, he sneakily shows me a clip he took of my warm-up routine, whispering, “You looked… really good there.” I poke his side, laughing. “Stop it, you’re making me flustered!”

Between rounds of TikToks and phone games, he keeps finding little excuses to be near me—hand brushing mine as he reaches for water, leaning over to laugh at a joke I made, glancing at me when he thinks I’m not looking. It’s subtle, but it’s there, and it makes my stomach do flips.

After the performance, the whole group, including our crew, heads to a big dinner to celebrate. The table is chaotic, everyone talking over each other, joking, and sharing stories from rehearsal. The restaurant is a whirlwind of laughter, chatter, and clinking glasses. Everyone is gathered around a massive table piled with plates of burgers , mac & cheese, kimchi, noodles, and endless sides a perfect mix of Korean and American flavors. Our crew jumps right into sharing behind-the-scenes stories from rehearsal. Ari reenacts her favorite dance fail, and Jake groans as she dramatically imitates his Australian accent.

“Oy mate, we’re just so tired from the dance, fair dinkum!” she says, putting on her best Aussie inflection. The table bursts into laughter, including the ENHYPEN members

Jake rolls his eyes, flustered but smiling. “I don’t know why I let her do this.”

Maya asks about their routines, and I help explain some of the Korean members’ answers about how intense their schedule is—sometimes rehearsing 12-hour days for music videos or performances. Heeseung and Jay just nod adding in comments explaining how it’s tiring but they wouldn’t have it any other way. “That’s insane,” Jaylen mutters. “We complain after five hours!”

Between bites, the conversation drifts to language. Ari whispers, “Okay, teach me how to say ‘I love dancing’ in Korean!” I laugh and whisper it to her slowly: “춤 사랑해요—chum saranghaeyo.” She repeats it with a dramatic flair, and the rest of the crew tries to mimic, stumbling over the syllables. Niki grins, watching them struggle but clearly amused.

“Good effort,” he says in English, then adds slowly in Korean, “잘했어요—jalhaesseoyo,” which I translate, “He’s saying you did well!” Everyone cheers, and Ari bows theatrically, trying to memorize it.

Later, jungwon jokingly says, “You guys have to come visit us in Korea next!” Ari pipes up. “We’ll definitely come see you, and maybe pick up some more K-pop dance moves!”

Sunghoon leans back, smirking. “No excuses next time. We’ll show you around.” Niki glances at me and chuckles, clearly enjoying the fact that I’m helping bridge the language gap.

The night stretches on with everyone sharing stories, teasing one another, laughing until our stomachs hurt, and sneaking in little attempts at Korean phrases. Between bites and sips of soda, it feels like we’ve all known each other far longer than a few hours.

After dinner, everyone heads back to their rooms, laughing and recounting favorite moments from the night. I’m just settling in when there’s a soft knock at my door. Peeking through the peephole, I see Niki, hoodie up, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, looking a little nervous but hopeful.

“Hey,” he whispers when I open the door. “Want to go for a walk?”

I grin. “Sure. Lead the way.”

The streets are quiet, lit softly by street lamps. The city hums in the distance, but it feels calm and private, like it’s just the two of us. We wander until we find a small, deserted park, the air carrying the faint scent of grass and nighttime blooms.

We sit on a bench, and for a while, we just talk—about dancing, music, favorite foods, childhood memories, and even the crew’s hilarious attempts to learn Korean earlier. Niki laughs at Ari’s dramatic “I love dancing” in Korean, and about how Jake’s accent got roasted too. The comfort of conversation slowly replaces any lingering nerves.

Then he gets a little quieter, and I notice his gaze lingering on me.

“Y/N… I don’t usually say things like this, but I haven’t felt a connection with someone like this in a long time,” he admits softly. “I mean… I think you’re beautiful. Your curls, your brown eyes, your style… the way you carry yourself. Everything about you just… stands out.”

I feel my chest warm, and I smile, teasing lightly, “You’re kind of smooth, you know that?” My voice shakes just a little, but I can’t hide the grin.

He chuckles, scratching the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to sound cheesy. I just… wanted you to know.”

We sit side by side, enjoying the quiet night, the cool air, and the soft hum of the city. There’s something comfortable about the silence that’s just as powerful as the conversation.

⸻

Eventually, we walk me back to my hotel room. We pause, neither of us ready to end the moment. He pulls out his phone.

“We should exchange numbers… just in case I want another midnight walk,” he says, smiling shyly.

I hand him mine, and he types it in quickly. Impulsively, I press a quick kiss to his cheek. His eyes widen slightly, then soften into a small, content smile.

Later that night, my phone buzzes. It’s him.

Niki: “Next time, instead of a midnight walk… we have to go on a midnight date.”

I grin at my screen, heart racing, and type back:

Y/N: “It’s a date.”

Back in Ni-ki’s room -

I quietly slip back into my room, still smiling from the walk. As soon as I close the door, Jake and Jungwon look up from the couch, both grinning knowingly.

“Spill it,” Jake says, crossing his arms. “How was it?”

I feel heat rising to my cheeks, trying to play it cool. “Nothing happened,” I lie… poorly.

Jungwon raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Nothing? You look like you just won a championship.”

I groan, flopping onto the bed. “She kissed me… on the cheek.”

Jake whistles dramatically, standing up. “On the cheek?! Niki, man, that’s huge!”

I groan again, but then a grin spreads across my face. “I know! I’m… so happy.” Before I even realize it, I’m up, shoving furniture aside and doing a little celebratory dance in the middle of the room—awkward, flustered, but pure joy.

Jungwon laughs so hard he nearly falls off the couch. “You look ridiculous!”

“Shut up!” I shout, laughing through it. “I don’t care. It’s a big deal!”

Jake grabs his phone and starts filming, “This is going on the internet someday, Niki!”

I spin around, still dancing, my hoodie slipping slightly, and Jungwon shakes his head, grinning. “Man, you’re hopeless.”

I collapse back onto the bed, breathless, cheeks burning, but smiling like an idiot. The thought of her—my laugh, her curls, the way she teased me—still makes my heart do little flips.

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