Synopsis: Riki taking care of you during your pregnancy
Warnings: flufffffff
now playingđ§- sienna- the marias
đa/n: ahhhh thank you so muchhhâ€ïžâ€ïž here you go hope you enjoyyy!!!!
The Morning Routine: The Bitter Medicine
It started before you even opened your eyes. You woke to the soft, rhythmic sound of wood scraping against stone.
Opening your eyes, you saw Riki sitting on the floor by the low table. He was already dressed in his dark undergarments, his broad back hunched over as he hand-ground dry ginger and mountain herbs into a fine paste using a pestle. He had been doing this every morning to combat your sickness before you even had to sit up.
"Riki..." you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.
He immediately stopped, setting the pestle down, and was at your side in an instant. He placed a large, warm hand against your forehead, checking your temperature.
"You are not flushed," he murmured, his thumb lightly tracing your cheekbone. "How is your throat? Any chill?"
"I'm fine," you smiled sleepily, reaching up to touch his hand. "Just tired."
"Stay down," he ordered softly.
He reached for the small clay pot resting on the edge of the brazier. He poured the warm, bitter herbal broth into a wooden bowl, blowing on it gently to cool it down to the exact temperature that wouldn't upset your sensitive stomach.
He slid his arm under your neck, slowly lifting you up just enough so you could drink. He held the bowl to your lips, his dark eyes watching your throat swallow each sip.
"I know it tastes like dirt," he whispered, his thumb wiping a stray drop from the corner of your mouth. "But the physician said it strengthens the womb. Drink all of it for me."
You grimaced but finished it, leaning your head back against his chest with a soft groan. He immediately set the bowl down and began his second daily ritual: massage.
Because you were spending so much time resting, your legs and lower back constantly ached. Riki slid his hands under the heavy quilts, finding your calves. His hands were massive, and with slow, incredibly firm pressure, he began kneading the tight muscles, working out the aches with a steady, soothing rhythm.
"Is the pressure alright?" he asked, his voice low and rumbling against your back.
"Mmm, yes... don't stop," you sighed, completely melting into his touch.
"I won't," he murmured, his hands moving up to the small of your back, rubbing in slow, warm circles that made the lingering tension vanish.
The Midday Walk: Restoring Your Strength
The physician had insisted that while you needed rest, keeping your body completely idle would make the labor harder when the time came. You needed to walk. But to Riki, the snowy courtyard was a battlefield of hazards.
When it came time for your midday walk, the process of just getting you out of the room was an event in itself.
Riki personally supervised the wrapping of your feet, making sure the thick cotton tabi socks were secure. He then wrapped you in three separate layers of heavy, padded winter kimonos. By the time he was done, you felt like a giant, soft silk doll.
"Riki, I can barely bend my elbows," you laughed, trying to lift your arms.
"The air is bitter today," he replied seriously, tying a thick wool cowl around your neck, tucking in every stray strand of your hair so the wind couldn't touch your skin. "You will not catch a chill. Not on my watch."
When you finally stepped onto the wooden veranda, Riki didn't just walk beside youâhe practically carried half your weight. His arm was wrapped securely around your waist, his hip pressed flush against yours to keep you steady.
Every single step was slow and deliberate. If there was even a patch of light frost on the wooden planks, he would stop, step in front of you, and scuff it away with the sole of his sandal before letting you tread there.
"Look at the sky, Riki," you said, pointing up at the pale blue winter sky. "It's beautiful."
He didn't look at the sky. He was looking at your face, watching the faint pink color return to your cheeks from the fresh air, his hand resting flat against the side of your stomach where the baby was safely tucked away under all those layers.
"Yes," he whispered, his eyes softening as he pulled you a little tighter against his side. "It is."
The Evening Check: Fighting the Ghosts
The hardest part of the process was always the evening, when the shadows grew long and the cold of the night crept in. This was when Riki's anxiety peaked.
After you had eaten a light dinnerâwhich Riki had practically supervised bite-by-bite to ensure you were getting enough strengthâyou lay down under the heavy, heated futons.
Riki sat beside you in the dim light of the single candle. He held your wrist, his fingers pressed firmly against your pulse. He did this every night now, counting the beats, making sure your heart wasn't racing the way it had during the dark days of the fever before.
He was so quiet, his face a mask of intense concentration, that you could see the faint bead of sweat on his temple despite the cool air.
"Riki," you whispered, reaching out with your free hand to touch his knee. "My pulse is steady. I promise."
He didn't let go of your wrist immediately. He took a slow, deep breath, then gently pressed a kiss to the inside of your wrist, right over your pulsing vein.
"I know," he murmured, his voice thick with raw emotion. "I just... I need to feel it. I need to know you are still here, beating, living."
He climbed under the quilts with you, pulling you entirely into his lap. He laid his head down right against your chest, his ear pressed directly over your heart, while his large hand slid down to cradle your warm, rounded stomach.
"Every day we get through is a victory," Riki whispered against your skin, his grip tightening just enough to let you know he was never letting go. "We are one day closer. Just keep breathing for me, sweetheart. I will handle the rest."
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Hiii, I wanted to ask if you can make a BabymonsterÂŽs Asa and Enhypens Riki an Idol FF.
Like they are getting shipped together until they met in real life.
Please with mature content and Riki is rough.
thank you if you do itđđđ
The thin wall between us
Idol riki x idol asa
Synopsis: the fans had been shipping them for a long time now, however the wall between them only breaks when they met in an after party
Warnings: smut, p in v, 18+, tension, fluff?
now playingđ§- reminder-the weeknd
đa/n: hiiiii Iâm so sorry for the waitđđđGUYS THIS IS FICTION NOT SHIPPING IRL!!!! (So if you donât like it then donât read!!)
The internet had been trying to force them into the same room for six months.
It started with a split-screen edit on TikTokâa synchronized transition between Asaâs lethal, razor-sharp rap verse in a music video and Rikiâs fluid, dangerously precise center break during a year-end awards show. They were the same age, both Japanese idols thriving under the brutal glare of the K-pop industry, both carrying a quiet, fiercely intimidating aura on stage that melted into something completely different behind the scenes. The edits turned into viral threads, the viral threads turned into major ship accounts, and suddenly, the digital world was entirely convinced that Nishimura Riki and Enami Asa were sharing secret glances across crowded award show floors.
In reality, they hadn't said a single word to each other. Not until tonight.
The venue for the after-party was an exclusive, underground lounge in Cheongdam-dong, rented out entirely for the final night of a major joint festival. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume, high-end alcohol, and the low, heavy thrum of bass vibrating through the velvet-draped walls. Idols from different companies mingled in the dim, amber lighting, masks off, enjoying a rare few hours of absolute privacy away from the cameras.
Asa sat in a corner booth, her fingers curled around a glass of iced water. She wore a tailored, off-the-shoulder black top that exposed the sharp lines of her collarbones, her dark hair falling in sleek sheets past her shoulders. On stage, she was an untouchable force; right now, she was just trying to breathe through the exhaustion of a three-day concert run.
Then, the air in her immediate vicinity shifted.
She felt the physical weight of someoneâs presence before she saw him. Looking up through her lashes, her breath caught. Riki was standing at the edge of the VIP section, talking to a senior artist, but his dark, fox-like eyes were locked entirely onto her. He had grown taller over the past year, his broad shoulders easily filling out a loose, silk button-down shirt that was left daringly open at the collar. He looked devastatingly handsome, a quiet, lethal confidence radiating from him.
When the senior artist walked away, Riki didn't hesitate. He set his drink down on a passing waiterâs tray and walked straight toward her booth, his steps slow, deliberate, and entirely predatory.
Asaâs heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The internetâs favorite fantasy was suddenly walking right into her reality.
"Is this seat taken?" Riki asked, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that sounded far deeper in person than it did through phone speakers. He spoke in Japanese, the familiar syllables instantly cutting through the loud Korean pop music playing in the background.
Asa swallowed hard, shifting slightly to the side. "No. Go ahead."
Riki slid into the booth, his large frame immediately crowding her space. He didn't sit at a polite distance. He leaned back against the leather cushion, his long legs stretching out, his knee casually brushing against hers through the fabric of her skirt. The point of contact felt like a spark of pure electricity.
"I've seen the videos," Riki murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips before rising back to her eyes. A slow, wicked smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "The ones our fans make. The edits."
Asaâs cheeks flushed a faint pink, though she kept her expression cool. "They have a lot of imagination."
"Do they?" Riki leaned in closer, his hot breath fanning over her cheek. His scentâsomething dark, woody, and expensiveâcompletely filled her lungs. "Because looking at you right now, in person... I think their imagination didn't even come close to reality."
The raw, unfiltered flirtation made Asa's pulse spike. For months, she had wondered what he was like behind the stoic, untouchable idol persona. Now she had her answer: he was shameless, confident, and entirely dangerous.
"You're very bold, Nishimura," she whispered, her eyes defying his gaze.
"Only when I know exactly what I want," Riki replied softly. His hand moved down, his long, calloused fingers casually brushing against the bare skin of her shoulder, sending a violent shiver straight down her spine. "And right now, I want to get out of here. With you."
The penthouse suite Riki had secured was located just a few blocks away, a private sanctuary overlooking the glittering, rain-slicked skyline of Seoul. The moment the heavy wooden door clicked shut behind them, the polite restraint they had maintained in the elevator vanished entirely.
Riki didn't waste a single second.
Before Asa could even turn on the lights, his hand shot out in the darkness, wrapping around her waist with a sudden, bruising intensity that made her gasp. With a single, effortless pull, he hauled her across the hardwood floor, pinning her back firmly against the cold surface of the front door.
"Rikiâ"
"I spent the last two hours watching you in that lounge," Riki interrupted, his voice dropping into a harsh, demanding register that vibrated straight through her chest. He hovered over her, his towering height completely engulfing her smaller frame. In the dim moonlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, his eyes looked completely dark, dilated with a fierce hunger. "I watched every single guy in that room try to get your attention. I've been sitting on this fire all night, Asa. I'm done waiting."
Before she could process the absolute dominance in his tone, his mouth crashed down onto hers.
This wasn't a gentle, hesitant first kiss. It was an assault of pure, unchecked possession. Riki used his tongue to part her lips with a desperate, heavy hunger, consuming every soft whimper that tried to escape her throat. He tilted her head back, his fingers tangling roughly in her dark hair to hold her in place as he tasted her deeply. Asaâs mind went entirely blank, her fingers instinctively clawing at the silk of his shirt just to stay grounded as the world tilted on its axis.
He groaned low in his throat, a deep, primal sound that sent a jolt of heat straight to her core. His free hand moved down to the hem of her tailored skirt, his warm palm sliding up the bare skin of her thigh, his fingers digging in tightly, anchoring her to the door.
"Ah, look at you," Riki murmured against her lips, breaking the kiss for just a fraction of a second. His breath came in ragged, uneven gasps as his mouth dragged a burning path down her jawline to the sensitive skin of her neck. He nipped at the flesh there, hard enough to make her cry out, before immediately soothing it with a wet, heavy stroke of his tongue. "So reactive. Did you want this as bad as I did?"
"Yes," Asa panted, entirely undone, her head tossing back against the door as his mouth moved down to her collarbone, marking her skin with dark, possessive kisses. "Riki, please..."
"Please what?" he taunted softly, his hand sliding to the zipper of her top, pulling it down with a swift, impatient motion. The fabric pooled around her waist, leaving her shivering in her lace bra. Riki pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes scanning every inch of her flushed skin with a scandalous, intoxicating lust. He loved having her completely at his mercy. "Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you."
"I want you," she confessed, her face burning as she looked up at his devastatingly handsome, wicked face.
A dark, intensely satisfied smile spread across his face. "Good."
He caught both of your wrists in his left hand. With a single, effortless motion, he pinned them firmly above your head against the door, locking your fingers in place. He grabbed her waist with his other hand, lifting her off her feet effortlessly. Asa instinctively wrapped her legs around his hips, gasping as the friction of their bodies heat up instantly.
Riki carried her across the suite without breaking his stride, his heavy steps silent on the carpet until he threw her down onto the massive, plush mattress. The impact made her bounce slightly, her hair splaying out in a messy halo across the white sheets. Before she could even scramble back, Riki crawled over her, his heavy body hovering directly between her thighs, trapping her completely beneath him.
He shed his silk shirt in one fluid motion, casting it carelessly to the floor. In the dim amber glow of the city lights, his bare chest looked like it had been sculpted from ironâbroad shoulders, lean muscles, and a sharp collarbone marking a perfect map of desire.
"You are so beautiful it makes me sick," Riki whispered hoarsely, his voice thick with lust.
Without another word, his hands moved down to the waistband of her skirt, ripping it down her legs along with her underwear, tossing them aside without a single shred of hesitation. He looked down at her, his breathing ragged, his sharp eyes burning into hers.
He didn't ease into her gently. Riki grabbed her thighs, parting them roughly and draping them over his broad shoulders, opening her up completely before driving himself deep inside her in one heavy, unyielding thrust.
A loud, breathless cry tore from Asa's throat, the sheer fullness and heat of him stretching her to her absolute limit. The world shattered into a thousand brilliant shards of light as Riki groaned deeply, his face burying into the crook of her neck as he immediately began to move.
He was ruthless. The quiet, disciplined center of the stage was replaced by an absolute tyrant in the bedroom, his movements heavy, fast, and completely demanding. Every single thrust was deep, hitting her sweet spot with a punishing accuracy that had her sobbing against his shoulder, her fingernails digging deep welts into the skin of his back.
"RikiâRiki, wait, it's too muchâ" she gasped, her lower body trembling under the onslaught.
"It's not enough," he growled back, his pace only quickening, his hands gripping her hips so tightly his fingers left dark, temporary marks on her pale skin. He lifted her upper body up, forcing her to look at him as he drove into her again and again, the wet, rhythmic sounds of their bodies colliding filling the quiet room. "Look at me. Watch what I'm doing to you. You're mine. Every single part of you."
Asa could barely breathe, let alone speak. Her mind was entirely consumed by the white-hot pleasure radiating from where they were joined, her core gripping him tightly with every deep, relentless push. Rikiâs eyes were completely wild, the veins in his neck and arms straining as he pushed her higher and higher toward the edge, his pleasure completely entwined with her surrender.
He leaned down, his mouth catching hers in a messy, frantic kiss, swallowing her loud, uninhibited cries as her climax finally tore through her. Her internal muscles clamped down on him in tight, rhythmic waves, causing Riki to let out a loud, undone growl. He threw his head back, his jaw straining as he delivered three more deep, devastating thrusts, completely filling her with his warmth as his own release overtook him.
The heavy, frenzied tension that had consumed the penthouse finally began to dissolve, leaving behind only the distant hum of the city traffic below and the synchronized, ragged rise and fall of their chests.
Riki stayed buried deep inside her for a long, quiet moment, his heavy forehead resting against her shoulder as his breathing slowly decelerated. When he finally shifted to pull away, a soft, involuntary whine escaped Asa's lips at the sudden, cold loss of his warmth.
"Shh, I've got you," Riki murmured, his voice a low, incredibly gentle rumble that sounded entirely different from the commanding tone heâd used just minutes before.
He carefully rolled onto his side, but he didn't let her go. Instead, he pulled her trembling, completely spent body right against his bare chest. His long arms wrapped securely around her waist, anchoring her to his solid frame as she instinctively curled into him, hiding her flushed face in the crook of his neck. She was completely breathless, her muscles twitching faintly from the sheer intensity of the climax he had forced out of her.
Riki reached down, grabbing the edge of the plush duvet and pulling it up over both of their shoulders to shield their bare skin from the sudden chill of the room.
"Look at me, Asa," he whispered softly.
When she tilted her head up, her eyes slightly glassy and her lips swollen, Rikiâs heart swelled with an overwhelming wave of devotion. He reached up with a remarkably gentle hand, his long fingers carefully brushing away the damp strands of hair that were stuck to her forehead. His thumb traced the curve of her cheek, wiping away the tiny, stray tears of sensory overload that had gathered at the corners of her eyes.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead, then to the tip of your nose, and finally to your lipsâa sweet, comforting contrast to the bruising kisses from earlier. "I told myself I would be gentle, and then I completely lost my mind the moment I touched you."
"It's okay," she breathed, her voice tiny and hoarse. She rested her hand over his heart, feeling its steady, calming rhythm. "I wanted you too."
A soft, genuinely tender smile broke across his face, his sharp eyes crinkling with affection. He leaned down to press his lips against her neck, right over the dark mark he had left there, humming softly against her skin.
He spent the next hour just holding her in the quiet dark, his large hands slowly massaging the tight, aching muscles of her lower back and thighs, easing the tension from her body with practiced care. He whispered sweet, quiet assurances into her hair, praising her for how beautiful she was, how perfectly she fit in his arms, and how deeply he loved her.
The next morning, the bright Seoul sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, illuminating the tangled mess of sheets and discarded clothes on the floor.
Asa woke up slowly, the dull ache in her lower body a stark, vivid reminder of everything that had transpired the night before. She shifted slightly, finding herself still pinned securely against Rikiâs side, his large hand resting possessively over her waist even in his sleep. He looked incredibly peaceful, the fierce, dominant predator from the night before replaced by the soft, boyish idol she had seen in interviews.
She reached out, her fingers hovering over the sharp line of his jawline, before she noticed her phone buzzing silently on the nightstand.
Carefully slipping out from under his arm so as not to wake him, she reached for the device and unlocked the screen. The screen instantly lit up with hundreds of notifications. She blinked against the brightness, opening her social media app only to see her name and Riki's trending at the number one spot globally.
A fan had taken a high-quality photo of them at the after-partyâspecifically, the exact moment Riki had leaned into her booth, his knee brushing hers, his dark eyes locked onto her face with an intensity that could be felt through the screen.
The caption read: âOH MY GOD, THE SHIP IS REAL. LOOK AT THE WAY HE LOOKS AT HER. THEY ARE SOULMATES.â
Asa let out a soft, breathless chuckle, her cheeks warming up all over again. If only the fans knew that the internetâs favorite fantasy hadn't just come trueâit had ended with the untouchable center completely ruining her against a penthouse door.
"What's so funny?" a low, gravelly voice rasped from the bed.
She turned to see Riki staring at her, his eyes half-closed, a lazy, sleepy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he reached out, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her right back down onto the mattress beneath him.
"Our fans," Asa whispered, her fingers tangling in his messy morning hair as he buried his face in her neck, his warm lips already tracing a path down her skin. "They think we're just matching glances."
Riki groaned low in his throat, his hand sliding down to grip her thigh with that same familiar, rough intensity from the night before, pulling her flush against his heat. "Let them talk. I'd rather spend the day showing you exactly what else we match."
Could you maybe do something where reader helps Riki with his sleeping problems?
Quad shot of expresso
insomnia! riki x reader
sypnosis: you are a barista at the local cafe and riki is your regular, hes been struggling with insomnia so u offer him some remedies, those worked, only for a while tho. however, your touch? works like magic on him.
warnings: flufff, angst, kissinggg
now playingđ§- coffee- beabadoobee
đa/n: hiiii thank you for your requestttt, took a bit of time but i hope youll enjoy it!đ€ edit: this is my draft ahhhh
The sweet aroma of roasted coffee beans and hazelnut syrup usually filled you with a sense of calm, but lately, your attention had been entirely captured by a specific regular.
"You know," you said one rainy Tuesday, leaning over the counter as you handed him his cup. "Drinking a quad-shot of espresso at 4:00 PM is basically a crime against your sleep cycle. Aren't you worried you won't be able to sleep?"
Riki let out a low, rough chuckle, his long fingers wrapping around the plastic cup. "Bold of you to assume I sleep anyway. The caffeine doesn't change anything. My brain just doesn't have an off-switch after dance practice."
That was the day you found out about his insomnia. Feeling a sudden wave of sympathy for the exhausted dancer, you started researching. The next day, instead of just handing him his coffee, you slipped a small, hand-labeled brown paper bag across the counter.
"Chamomile and valerian root," you explained, smiling at his confused expression. "Steep it for ten minutes before bed. No sugar."
Riki blinked, a genuine, lopsided smile breaking across his tired face. "Are you prescribing me tea?"
A week later, you were browsing the snack aisle at the local grocery store after your shift when a tall figure suddenly leaned over your shoulder, dropping a bag of chips into your basket.
"You have terrible taste in snacks," a deep, familiar voice teased.
You spun around to see Riki, wearing an oversized black hoodie, looking tired but incredibly happy to see you.
"Hey! These are classics," you laughed, defending your choices.
Riki looked down at you, his dark eyes softening. "Hey... I'm having a movie night at my place. Mostly because I'm too tired to move, but I don't want to be alone. Want to come over?"
Ten minutes later, you were sitting on his living room floor, leaning against his couch. Riki sighed heavily, rubbing his face with his hands. "The treatments aren't working anymore. Nothing works. My body is just permanently wired and tired."
Looking at how stressed and exhausted he was, your heart fully ached for him. Without overthinking it, you patted your thigh. "Come here. Lie down."
Riki blinked, surprised, but his body was too heavy to argue. He carefully lowered his head, resting it right in your lap. He felt incredibly warm, his long frame stretching out across the floor. Slowly, you reached out and ran your fingers through his messy, dark hair, gently massaging his scalp.
"Close your eyes, Riki," you murmured softly. "Don't think about dance, or the tea, or sleeping. Just listen to my breathing."
Your fingers kept moving in slow, hypnotic strokes through his hair. Within ten minutes, the tense line of his jaw completely relaxed. His breathing slowed, becoming deep and even. He was asleep.
When Riki woke up, a soft beam of morning light was filtering into the room. He blinked against the light, realizing his head was still in your lap. Your hand was still resting gently in his hair, though you had fallen asleep yourself, your head tilted back against the cushions of the couch.
He stared up at you in pure shock. He had slept for six hours. No teas, no musicâjust you.
After that night, it became a regular thing. Whenever his brain wouldn't shut up, he'd ask you to come over, and the magic touch of your fingers in his hair was the only thing that could lull him to sleep. The feelings between you grew heavier, sweeter, but neither of you had dared to cross the line.
Riki was sitting there, his knuckles white around his iced americano. Seeing you smile at another guy sent a sharp, agonizing stab of jealousy straight through his chest. Jake was handsome, outgoing, and clearly interested. A sudden, suffocating fear gripped Rikiâthe fear that he was going to lose you before you were even his.
That night, Riki tried to go to sleep without calling you. He told himself he was being selfish, relying on you so much. But the moment he closed his eyes, all he could see was you laughing at Jake's jokes. His chest burned with jealousy and anxiety. By 10:30 PM, his brain was a chaotic, furious storm.
He couldn't take it anymore. His fingers trembled as he grabbed his phone.
Riki: Are you awake? Please tell me you're awake.
Riki: I need you.
You had just clocked out of your closing shift, pulling your jacket on, when your phone buzzed. Seeing his panicked texts, your heart dropped. You didn't even reply; you just ran straight to his building, using your spare key to let yourself into his apartment.
The living room was dark, and Riki was pacing the floor, looking completely frantic, his hair a messy, tangled ruin from where he'd been gripping it.
"Riki!" you breathed, dropping your bag. "What's wrong? Why couldn't you sleep? Did something happen at practice?"
Riki stopped pacing. He looked at you, his eyes wide, dark, and vulnerable. "It wasn't practice," he said, his voice raw and cracked.
"Then what is it?" you asked, stepping closer, reaching out to touch his arm.
Riki pulled back slightly, his chest heaving. "Jake."
"He was flirting with you," Riki burst out, the words tumbling out of him in a desperate, jealous rush. "You were smiling at him. You laughed at his jokes. I sat there and watched it, and my chest felt like it was exploding. I tried to sleep tonight, I really did, but every time I close my eyes, I just think about him taking you away from me. I'm losing my mind, because I'm so exhausted, but I can't sleep if I think you're going to belong to someone else."
You stared at him, completely stunned. Then, slowly, a soft, amused smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and a small laugh escaped you.
"You're laughing?" Riki asked, looking deeply hurt and confused.
"Riki, you idiot," you said softly, stepping right into his space and forcefully grabbing his waist so he couldn't back away. "Jake is my neighbor. He has a boyfriend. He was teasing me because I dropped an entire gallon of milk yesterday."
Riki froze, his brain trying to process the information. "He... he has a boyfriend?"
"Yes," you murmured, looking up into his dark eyes, your heart pounding. "I don't like Jake, Riki. Romantically, I don't care about anyone else. Because I'm completely, entirely crazy about a stupidly stubborn dancer who can't sleep."
Rikiâs eyes widened, the heavy storm of jealousy instantly evaporating, replaced by a sudden, intense heat. "You... you like me?"
"I love you, Riki. I thought that was obvious by the amount of tea I buy you."
A breathless, euphoric laugh escaped Riki's lips. Before you could say another word, his large hands cupped your face, and he leaned down, crashing his lips against yours.
The kiss was desperate, full of all the pent-up jealousy, relief, and deep affection heâd been harboring for months. It was a firm, sweet, and demanding rhythm that made your knees go weak. You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer as he groaned softly into the kiss, his grip on your waist tightening as if he were finally anchoring himself home.
When he finally broke apart, both of you were breathless. Riki rested his forehead against yours, a massive, brilliant smile breaking across his faceâthe happiest you had ever seen him look.
"Good," he whispered, kissing the tip of your nose. "Because I'm never letting you go now."
He guided you over to the bed, pulling you down with him under the heavy duvet. Riki immediately curled his long body around yours, burying his face into your neck, his strong arms locking you securely against his chest.
You smiled in the dark, reaching up to slowly stroke your fingers through his hair, gently massaging his scalp just like you always did.
"Close your eyes, Ni-ki," you whispered.
"I love you," he mumbled against your skin, his voice already turning heavy and thick with blissful, peaceful exhaustion.
Within minutes, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest calmed down. Safe in each other's arms, with his jealousy cured and his heart full, Riki fell into a deep, dreamless sleepâand with your hand still tangled in his soft hair, you drifted off right alongside him.
Sypnosis: month after Riki helped you with your insomnia, you guys seems to be a bit more than best friends now
Warning: mention of insomnia, flufff, kissing
now playingđ§- No.1 party anthem- arctic monkeys
đa/n: ahhhh this one is requested by @nikidikiy Iâm so happy youâre one of my favvvvv authorrr!!!!!! Hope you guys will enjoy this one too!
You can read the previous one here
The glowing green numbers on your phone read 1:45 AM, but you werenât at your apartment, and you weren't staring at his living room ceiling.
Months had passed since that first movie night, and your insomnia had evolved from a lonely nightmare into a shared routine. You practically lived at Rikiâs place now. But tonight was different. Riki had just come back from a brutal, week-long dance workshop tour, and he was completely exhausted. You had promised yourself you wouldn't wake him up if your brain started buzzing.
You had quietly slipped out of his bed and walked into the kitchen, leaning against the counter in the dark as you sipped a glass of water, trying to mentally untangle your thoughts.
Suddenly, a pair of long, heavy arms wrapped around your waist from behind.
You flinched, but immediately relaxed as Riki buried his face into the crook of your neck, his skin warm and his breathing heavy with leftover sleep. He wore nothing but a pair of loose sweatpants, his chest bare and radiating heat against your back.
"Where'd you go?" he mumbled, his voice so deep and gravelly it sent a shiver straight down your spine.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, turning around in his embrace so you were facing him. You placed your hands flat against his warm chest. "I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to bed, Ni-ki. You've been dancing for twelve hours a day."
Riki didn't move. He just looked down at you, his heavy eyelids drooping, but his dark eyes intensely focused on your face in the dim moonlight filtering through the kitchen window.
"I woke up because the bed was cold," he murmured, his hands sliding down to rest securely on your hips, anchoring you against the kitchen counter. "Your brain is loud again, isn't it?"
"A little," you admitted softly. "But you need your rest. I can handle it tonight."
Riki let out a low, rough chuckle, shaking his head. "How many times do I have to tell you? You don't 'handle' it alone anymore. I don't care how tired I am."
He reached past you, took the glass of water from your hand, and set it on the counter. Then, before you could protest, Riki gripped your waist and effortlessly lifted you up, seating you on the edge of the kitchen counter. Now, you were at eye level with him.
The sudden change in dynamic made your breath hitch. The playful, comforting "best friend" energy from months ago was entirely gone. Standing between your thighs, Riki leaned in close, his hands gently framing your face, his thumbs wiping at the tired shadows under your eyes.
"Look at me," he commanded softly.
You looked. His messy hair fell across his forehead, and his expression was completely devoid of its usual teasing smirk. He looked at you with a raw, fierce intensity that made your heart hammer against your ribs.
"I don't just want to be the guy who lends you a shoulder when you're tired," Riki whispered, his gaze dropping to your lips and staying there. "I want to be the reason you feel safe. Every single night. I'm crazy about you."
The quiet confession hung in the midnight air, completely silencing the frantic thoughts in your head.
"Riki..." you breathed.
"Can I kiss you?" he asked, his voice dropping to a vulnerable, breathless murmur. "Properly?"
You didn't answer with words. You tangled your fingers into his hair and pulled him closer.
Riki didn't hesitate. He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours.
Unlike the gentle, tentative comfort of the past, this kiss was deep, deliberate, and full of a simmering passion that had been building between you for months. He groaned softly against your mouth, his hands sliding from your face down to your waist, pulling your body flush against his bare chest. The heat radiating off him was intoxicating. You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him closer as the kiss turned sweet and demanding, a slow, intoxicating rhythm that completely erased the rest of the world.
When he finally broke the kiss, he didn't pull away. He rested his forehead against yours, his chest heaving as he let out a breathless, happy laugh.
"Wow," he murmured, his thumbs tracing circles on your hips. "Yeah. I'm definitely never letting you go back to your apartment."
You smiled, a genuine, radiant feeling blooming in your chest as you rested your head on his shoulder, your heart finally beating in a calm, steady rhythm.
"Come on," Riki whispered, kissing the side of your neck before lifting you down from the counter. "Let's go to bed. I'll hold you until morning."
synopsis :: a non idol au where Niki and reader are pulled into the world of fake dating while living in the world of street racing and the mafia.
warnings :: I honestly have no clue what to put here but I meanâŠ..thereâs NO smut so there's that ig đ€·đŒââïž
word count :: 7.5k (this one's looooooooong)
pairing :: street racer! mafia prince! Niki x street racer! mafia agent! reader
enhypen masterlist (not yet linked)
a/n :: I really don't know how to feel about this. I know I have people's requests from months ago that I need to post but this has been clouding my brain for sooo freaking long I needed to finish it. Don't worry. I will post everyone's requests asap. TRUST.
The neon glow of the city bled through the midnight mist, painting the rain-slicked asphalt of Tokyo in fractured streaks of electric blue and crimson. Down in the subterranean belly of the cityâs underground racing circuit, the air was a thick, intoxicating blend of high-octane fuel, burning rubber, and raw adrenaline.
For the past three years, the undisputed king of these circuits had gone by one name: Niki.
He was a ghost on the asphalt. Moving with a predatory precision, his matte-black Nissan GT-R didn't just turn corners, it sliced through them. No one could touch him. The rest of his crew, the elite circle of drivers ruling the underground, were formidable in their own right. Jayâs aggressive, heavy-hitting style, Sunghoonâs terrifyingly icy precision, Heeseungâs flawless strategic lines, and the calculated chaos of Jake, Sunoo, and Jungwon. Together, they were a wall. If you wanted a shot at Niki, you had to survive them first. No one ever did.
Until tonight.
You stood under the flickering halogen lights of the staging garage, pulling your leather racing gloves tight over your knuckles. After years away from Tokyo, hidden in the shadows of a completely different, much darker life, you had finally returned. You hadn't planned on racing. But a frantic, last-minute call from an old contact whose driver had "suddenly gone missing" left an open slot against the city's untouchable crew.
They needed a ghost to fight a ghost. And you were more than qualified.
"You're the replacement?"
A voice cut through the thrum of idling engines. It was Sunghoon, leaning against his sleek silver ride, his eyes scanning you with cold amusement. Behind him, Jungwon and Jay were watching, smirk locked in place.
"Don't get too comfortable in that seat, sweetheart," Jay called out, revving his engine so hard the garage floor vibrated. "We don't play nice with tourists."
You didn't say a word. You simply slid into the cockpit of your modified midnight-blue Mazda RX-7, the heavily tuned rotary engine roaring to life with a fierce, metallic scream that instantly silenced the chatter around you.
When the flag dropped, the world blurred into a hyper-speed streak of neon.
They expected an amateur. What they got was a demolition of their egos. By the third hairpin turn of the outside pass, you caught Jay on the inside lane, clipping the apex so perfectly your rear bumper missed the guardrail by millimeters. He was left in your smoke. Next came Sunghoon and Heeseung, executing a synchronized block on a tight S-curve. With a merciless flick of your wrist and a brutal downshift, you initiated a high-angle drift that literally slid your car right between them, the side mirrors nearly scraping theirs.
By the time the race hit the straightaway leading back into the heart of the city, you were riding the tail of the matte-black GT-R.
Niki noticed you. He adjusted his grip on the wheel, his car twitching as he took a defensive line. He was terrifyingly fast. But you had been trained to calculate vectors, speed, and human behavior under extreme duress. You knew exactly when his tires would lose optimal grip on the damp asphalt.
At the final, sweeping drift before the finish line, Niki swung wide to lock you out. You anticipated it. Flicking your handbrake, you threw your car into a reverse-ring drift, sliding completely under his blind spot, gripping the inner curb, and rocketing past him.
The crowd went dead silent as the midnight-blue RX-7 crossed the finish line a full car length ahead of Tokyoâs undefeated prodigy.
The high of winningâand the heavy duffel bag packed with millions of yen in cash sitting under your bedâevaporated the moment your alarm went off at 5:00 AM.
The adrenaline of a racer was a luxury. Today, you were back to being an asset.
As a highly trained, elite operative raised in a brutal, black-market training program, you functioned as a secret agent and personal guard for Tokyo's most feared mafia. Your boss, a ruthless man who commanded the city's underworld from a skyscraper penthouse, had one ironclad rule: No outside attention. Your identity was supposed to be a ghost. Racing in a highly publicized underground event was a massive violation of protocol.
When you walked into the headquarters, the atmosphere was suffocating. Your handler didn't look you in the eye.
"The Boss wants you in his office. Immediately," a guard muttered, his face pale.
A cold knot formed in your stomach. The absolute euphoria of throwing Niki off his throne last night was instantly replaced by a sharp, icy dread. Did he find out? How? You adjusted the collar of your dark jacket, forcing your breathing into a slow, measured rhythm as the private elevator ascended to the top floor.
You pushed open the heavy mahogany doors to his office.
The Boss was sitting behind a massive black marble desk, the Tokyo skyline sprawling out behind him through floor-to-ceiling glass. He wasn't yelling. He wasn't pacing. He was calmly pouring himself a glass of whiskey, the ice clinking softly against the crystal.
That calm was far more terrifying than anger.
"You had a busy night," the Boss said, his voice a low, gravelly purr. He didn't look up as he pushed a tablet across the desk. On the screen was a grainy, high-speed camera shot of your RX-7 crossing the finish line, your face perfectly visible for a fraction of a second through the side window. "An elite agent, pulling amateur stunts on public roads for pocket change."
"Sir, it was a substituteâ"
"Silence," he commanded, a subtle edge cutting through his calm demeanor. "You violated protocol. You risked exposure. Under normal circumstances, the penalty for this would be... severe." He took a slow sip of his drink. "However, I am a businessman. You won a staggering amount of money last night. Fifty percent of those winnings will be transferred to the syndicate's primary account by noon."
You swallowed hard, your fist clenching slightly at your side. "Understood, sir."
"But that does not absolve you of the trouble you've caused," he continued, leaning back in his leather chair. "I have a problem, and your sudden, unfortunate public exposure provides a solution. My son has been... problematic. The media calls him a delinquent. His reckless reputation is beginning to affect my corporate fronts. He needs a distraction. Good publicity. A stable, striking relationship with someone who can handle themselves."
Your eyes widened slightly. "Sir?"
"As your punishment, you will serve as his public partner. You. Will date him."
You stood frozen, utterly stunned. You were an assassin, a shadow operative, a ghost on the asphaltânot a babysitter for a spoiled mafia prince.
The Boss didn't care about your hesitation. He raised a hand, motioning to the guard standing by the side door. "Bring him in."
The heavy door clicked and swung open. Still reeling from the absurdity of the demand, you turned your head toward the doorway.
Your jaw instantly dropped.
Stepping into the room was a tall, sharply dressed young man. The oversized, silver-chained grunge outfit and backward cap from the racing pits were completely gone. Instead, he wore a flawlessly tailored, midnight-black designer suit, the white button-down slightly unbuttoned at the collar, highlighting a sharp, aristocratic jawline. His dark hair was styled back perfectly, revealing the piercing, cat-like eyes you had stared down through a windshield just hours prior.
Niki.
He stopped walking, his gaze landing on you. For a split second, a flicker of genuine shock crossed his features, his eyes widening before his mask of cool, effortless indifference slammed back down. A slow, dangerous smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
Why? your mind screamed in absolute panic. Of all the people in Tokyo, why him?!
"Niki, this is your new partner," the Boss said smoothly, completely blind to the electric tension snapping between the two of you. "You will be seen with her in public. Regularly. Am I clear?"
Ni-ki kept his eyes locked on you, his smirk widening. "Perfectly clear, Father."
The moment the office doors closed behind you, the stifling mafia air gave way to a tense, echoing hallway. You walked quickly, your mind racing faster than your RX-7 ever could, desperately trying to process the absolute trainwreck your life had just become.
Suddenly, a shadow fell over you.
Before you could react, Niki swooped down, his tall frame leaning in close. His breath brushed against your ear, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine as his voice dropped to a low, smooth murmur.
"Nice driving, bullitt."
You stiffened as he pulled back, a smug, infuriatingly handsome grin plastered across his face. Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and began walking down the corridor, hands casually shoved into his expensive suit pockets.
"Where do you think you're going?" you demanded, your voice sharp.
Niki didn't even stop. He just shrugged his broad shoulders. "Out."
"No," you said, your heels clicking sharply against the marble floor as you hurried to catch up. "No, we need to talk about this right now."
He stopped, turning his head slightly over his shoulder to glance at you, his expression completely unfazed. "There's nothing to talk about, bullitt. We're dating now. That's that."
He started to walk away again, completely dismissing you.
The sheer arrogance of it snapped something inside you. Your elite agent reflexes overrode your shock. In a blur of motion, you closed the distance between you. Your hand shot out, gripping his lapel, while your foot swept behind his ankle, pivoting your weight. Before Niki could even register what was happening, you slammed him backward against the wall, the heavy thud echoing through the hallway.
You pinned him there, your forearms pressed against his chest, locking him down with perfect, lethal leverage.
Nikiâs breath hitched. For the second time that day, his cool facade cracked, his eyes wide as he looked down at you, realizing exactly what kind of "guard" his father employed.
Holding his gaze for a tense, breathless second, you deliberately took a step back. You smoothed down your jacket, exhaling slowly, and looked up at him with a polite, yet deadly serious expression.
"Like I said," you spoke softly, your voice dropping into a dangerously calm register. "We really need to talk about this."
Niki stayed pinned against the wall for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, his eyes locked on yours. The initial shock on his face melted right back into that smug, infuriating little smirk.
"Fine," he said, straightening his expensive suit jacket as you stepped back. "Weâll talk. But weâre doing it at your place."
You blinked, your brow furrowing in immediate suspicion. "My place? Absolutely not. Why on earth would we go to my apartment?"
"Think about it, bullet," Niki said, leaning in just an inch closer, his voice dripping with casual confidence. "If weâre trying to jump-start these dating rumors for my dad's PR team, someone needs to see us together. The paparazzi or the syndicate's scouts tracking me to a girl's apartment building? It's the perfect headline. Unless, of course, you're scared."
You let out a harsh, irritated grumble, rolling your eyes so hard it practically hurt. He was using his fatherâs assignment as a perfect excuse to be difficult, but logically, he wasn't entirely wrong about the optics.
"Fine," you muttered, grabbing him by the sleeve of his tailored jacket and practically dragging him toward the elevators. "But you keep your hands to yourself."
When the elevator doors opened into the underground parking garage, Niki immediately started steering toward a sleek, black luxury sports car parked in the VIP section. He reached out a hand for the door handle, but you stepped right in front of him, blocking his path.
"Nuh uh, honey. Not that one," you said, crossing your arms.
Niki stopped, looking thoroughly confused. "What do you mean 'not that one'? Weâre taking my car."
"We are not," you replied, gesturing with your chin toward the shadowed corner of the garage.
Niki rounded his sports car, his eyes tracing your gaze until they landed on a menacing, matte-black sports motorcycle. It was custom-built, stripped down for pure speed, and looked like a mechanical predator waiting in the dark.
He stared at it, then stared at you, his jaw dropping slightly. "You expect me to get on that? No way. Absolutely not. Do you know how embarrassing itâs going to look if someone catches Tokyoâs top drift racer riding on the back of a bike like a sidekick? Weâre taking the car."
You planted your boots firmly on the concrete, putting your foot down. "Listen to me carefully. This bike is like my child. I took a high-risk mission just to import the custom engine parts for it, and I am not leaving it exposed in a corporate garage overnight. Youâre riding with me, or you can walk."
Niki looked at the motorcycle, then at his pristine, thousand-dollar suit, and let out a dramatic, defeated sigh. "If this suit gets ruined, you're paying for the dry cleaning."
A few minutes later, the roar of the motorcycle echoed through the streets of Tokyo. Niki had no choice but to wrap his arms tightly around your waist as you leaned hard into the sharp city corners, deliberately driving a little faster just to feel him tense up behind you. By the time you pulled into the secure residential garage of your apartment complex, his hair was slightly windswept, ruining his perfect styling, which brought a satisfied smile to your face.
Your flat was located in a high-end district, boasting a spacious, modern layout with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the skyline. Between your elite syndicate salary and your underground racing side-hustle, you could afford absolute comfort.
The moment you unlocked the door and stepped inside, Niki didn't even hesitate. He kicked off his designer shoes, strode right into the living room, and completely plopped down across your oversized plush leather couch, stretching his long legs out over the cushions.
You threw your keys onto the kitchen counter and folded your arms, glaring at him. "Yeah, make yourself at home, why don't ya?" you said, your tone dripping with heavy sarcasm.
Niki didn't even look up, merely resting his head against the back of the couch. "Well, if we're going to be fake dating, we're going to have to get used to being comfortable in each other's spaces, bullitt. Get used to it."
Instead of letting him rile you up, you decided to play his own game. Matching his smug energy perfectly, you walked over, kicked your boots off, and plopped down on the couch right next to him, so close your shoulders brushed.
Niki stiffened slightly, his eyes darting to you in genuine surprise. He clearly hadn't expected you to call his bluff or match his confidence so easily.
"Alright, prince," you said, leaning back and turning your head to face him with a challenging smirk of your own. "Let's lay down the ground rules for this little arrangement. If we're doing this, we're doing it on my terms."
Niki let out a soft scoff, shifting so he was propped up on his elbow, looking down at you. "Your terms? Sweetheart, my dad is the one holding the leash here. You're just the guard forced to tag along."
"Iâm the guard who can snap your collarbone in three places before you can yell for backup," you replied smoothly, your voice dropping into that dangerously polite agent tone. "And I'm the driver who took your crown. So let's talk about boundaries."
Nikiâs eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of genuine amusement cutting through his arrogance. "Fine. Shoot."
You held up a single, finger. "Rule number one: Strictly professional in private. The second the cameras are off and the doors are closed, we are strangers. You don't touch my stuff, you don't show up at my flat uninvited, and you don't get in my space."
"Easy enough," Niki shrugged, tapping his fingers against the back of the couch. "I have my own penthouse. I don't plan on lingering in a government employee's apartment anyway. My turn: Rule number two: When the cameras are on, you don't fight me. If my dadâs PR team needs us to look like a lovesick couple, you play along. No stiff posture, no death glares. If I put my arm around you for a photo, you smile like I'm the best thing that ever happened to you."
You clenched your jaw slightly but nodded. "Fine. But that leads to Rule number three: No excessive PDA. Holding hands, a hand on the waist for photos, fine. But if you try to push my buttons or get overly affectionate just to mess with me, I will use every pressure point I learned in the academy to make you suffer without anyone noticing."
Niki let out a low laugh, a dangerous glint in his eye. "A challenge. I like it. Rule number four: We don't interfere with each other's actual work. You do your shadow agent stuff, I run my crew and the tracks. We don't ask questions about each other's schedules, and we keep our operational lives completely separate."
"Agreed," you said, holding up one final finger. "Rule number five: The racing rivalry stays on the track. You don't use your dad's influence to get me banned from the underground, and I won't deliberately sabotage your car. If we end up on the asphalt together, it's a fair game."
Nikiâs smirk widened, his gaze locked onto yours with absolute intensity. "Deal, bullitt. But don't expect me to let you win a second time."
"You can try, prince," you said, standing up from the couch and extending a hand to finalize the contract. "Do we have a deal?"
Niki stood up to meet you, his tall frame towering over you as he took your hand. Instead of a standard business grip, his fingers lingered for a second, a silent acknowledgment of what had just begun between you.
"We have a deal."
The red carpet outside the luxury hotel was a blinding sea of camera flashes. The media had been tipped off: the syndicate heir was arriving with a mysterious, captivating new partner.
Niki stepped out of the limousine first, smoothing the lapels of his tailored tuxedo. He turned and offered you a hand, his face wearing a dazzling, perfectly practiced camera smile. The moment your heels hit the pavement, he pulled you flush against his side, his arm wrapping tightly around your waist.
"Smile, bullitt," he murmured through grinning teeth, his fingers digging into your hip just enough to be annoying. "We're supposed to be madly in love."
"Keep pushing your luck, prince, and you'll be smiling through a wired jaw," you whispered back, maintaining a flawless, radiant expression for the lenses.
As you walked up the steps, Niki took it a step further, leaning down to press a lingering, overly affectionate kiss to your temple. The paparazzi erupted into a frenzy. Underneath the cover of his broad shoulder, your hand shot up, wrapping around his forearm. With precision born from years of agent training, your thumb dug directly into the median nerve pressure point near his elbow.
Nikiâs entire posture locked up. His smile twitched, a sudden flash of panic crossing his eyes as a sharp, numbing ache shot down his arm. He couldn't move his hand without making a scene.
"Much better," you purred, patting his chest sweetly as you guided his now-compliant arm down to a respectable position. "Let's keep our hands where they belong."
A few nights later, the venue shifted to the concrete underworld of the famous Akihabara UDX underground parking garage. Nikiâs PR team had carefully leaked the location, ensuring a crowd of automotive influencers and street photographers would be waiting.
For this crowd, the look had to be different. You wore a sleek, cropped leather jacket and dark denim, while Niki was back in his elementâan oversized designer bomber jacket and silver chains.
"Look here lovebirds," the PR manager had instructed.
Niki hopped onto the hood of his pristine sports car, pulling you between his knees. You leaned back against him, your fingers intertwining with his as he rested his chin casually on your shoulder. To the flashing cameras of the car spotters, you looked like the ultimate street-racing power couple. Effortless, dangerous, and completely infatuated.
"You're a good actor," you muttered, looking at the way his fingers laced perfectly through yours.
"Who says I'm acting?" he replied smoothly, his breath warm against your neck. Before you could stamp on his foot, he let out a low laugh. "Relax. Just giving them what they want."
To maintain the ruse, Niki told his father they needed a "romantic midnight drive" into the countryside to build genuine chemistry. Their destination? The legendary winding mountain passesâthe tougeâof Mount Haruna.
The moment the highway signs faded and the empty, pitch-black mountain roads opened up, the fake dating mask completely shattered. The romantic music was switched off. The racing rivalry took over.
Niki took the first shift, his GT-R tearing through the initial hairpins. He was driving with a terrifying aggression, initiating high-speed tandem drifts that sent the rear of the car inches away from the rocky mountain walls, clearly trying to test your nerves. You didn't even flinch. You watched his shifting patterns, reading the road layout like a map.
"My turn," you said when he finally pulled over at the mountain peak lookout.
You swapped seats. The air was crisp, the smell of hot brakes lingering in the night. You slid into the driver's seat, adjusted the mirrors, and slammed the gas.
If Niki thought he knew the limits of his own car, you showed him a completely new dimension. Approaching a notorious, completely blind S-curve, you didn't brake. Instead, you initiated an ultra-late braking drift, using the weight transfer to execute a flawless, terrifying blind-corner pass right along the inner gutter. The headlights illuminated nothing but a sheer drop-off for a split second before the tires gripped and launched the car forward.
When you finally pulled back into the city limits, Niki was gripping the passenger door handle so tightly his knuckles were white. He took a slow breath, looking over at you with a mixture of sheer disbelief and undeniable respect.
"You're insane," he breathed, a genuine, unforced smile breaking across his face.
The truce didn't last long. The next mandate from the Boss was a legitimate, high-end corporate gala in the prestigious Ginza district. This was for the syndicateâs highest-tier legitimate business partners.
The sheer contrast of the Ginza gala was enough to give you whiplash. One night you were tearing up mountain passes in a cloud of burning rubber, and the next, you were stepping into a grand ballroom that smelled of expensive champagne, white lilies and old money.
Niki was already waiting for you at the entrance. When he turned around, his breath hitched. The black evening gown fit you like a second skin, elegant enough to camouflage the compact ceramic blade strapped to your inner thigh and the micro-pistol at your lower back.
He cleared his throat, adjusting his midnight-blue tuxedo jacket as he stepped closer. The arrogant smirk he usually wore was entirely missing, replaced by a gaze that lingered just a second too long.
"You look..." He paused, his cat-like eyes tracing the line of your collarbone before he quickly recovered his composure. "...decent. For an agent."
"Don't sound too enthusiastic, prince," you murmured, offering a polite smile to a passing executive while keeping your voice low.
As you walked deeper into the ballroom, the media presence intensified. Camera flashes began to ripple through the crowd. Sensing the cue, Niki slid his hand around your waist. His palm was warm, the pressure of his fingers steady and surprisingly gentle through the silk of your dress.
An involuntary shiver ran down your spine. You didn't pull away. Instead, you leaned a fraction of an inch closer into his side, your shoulder brushing against his chest.
"Don't worry," he whispered, leaning down so his lips were dangerously close to your ear, his warm breath sending a completely different kind of tension through your veins. "I won't try anything tonight. I know you're packing heat under that dress. I value my ribs."
"Smart boy," you smiled back, raising a glass of champagne to toast a group of photographers.
But as the night wore on, the corporate small talk faded into the background, leaving just the two of you navigating the crowd. Every time a wealthy business partner tried to corner you with prying questions about your background, Niki smoothly intervened. He would navigate the conversation with a sharp, effortless charm, steering the focus back to himself while his hand remained a reassuring, grounding presence on your lower back.
At one point, a waiter passed with a tray of traditional Japanese sweets. Niki snatched a small, powdered strawberry daifuku, holding it out to you with a sudden, playful glint in his eyes.
"Here," he said softly, the performance completely dropping for a brief moment. "You haven't eaten anything all night. You're tracking security exits, aren't you?â
You blinked, surprised that he had noticed your eyes scanning the balcony lines. You took a bite of the sweet right from his fingers, your lips lightly brushing against his fingertips. Niki froze for a split second, his gaze dropping to your mouth before he quickly looked up, a faint, genuine flush creeping onto the tips of his ears.
The tension between you wasn't the sharp, competitive friction of the racetrack anymore. It was heavy, quiet, and undeniable.
"You're surprisingly observant when you're not behind a steering wheel," you countered softly, your voice losing its defensive edge.
"I observe what's important," he replied, his voice dropping an octave, completely stripping away the smugness.
The weight of his gaze was almost too much to handle, a thrilling panic rising in your chest that had absolutely nothing to do with your mission. To break the spell, you let out a soft, teasing laugh, leaning in close as if sharing a romantic secret for the cameras nearby.
You whispered, a challenging spark returning to your eyes. "You might be the king of the asphalt, prince, but I bet I can out-drift you on a digital screen. There's a multi-story arcade in Shibuya with our names on it."
Nikiâs sudden intensity broke into a bright, genuine laugh, his fingers tightening slightly around your waist. "A racing simulator? You're on, bullet. But when I beat you there, you owe me a real date."
Within twenty minutes of getting there, the arcade was completely packed. Word had spread that Tokyo's top underground racer was playing the virtual racing simulators.
You and Niki sat side-by-side in the enclosed cockpit arcade cabinets, the screens glowing vividly. What was supposed to be a fun, photogenic date quickly turned into a war zone. You completely dominated the arcade's local leaderboard, smashing the all-time high scores within three rounds.
A massive crowd of teenagers gathered behind your seats, cheering and filming on their phones. Nikiâs competitive streak flared into absolute overdrive. His eyes were wide, his hands flying across the plastic sequential shifter as he tried desperately to beat your ghost car on the virtual track.
"There is no way a simulator's physics engine allows that line!" he yelled over the arcade music as your digital car crossed the finish line a fraction of a second ahead of his for the fourth time in a row. "You're cheating!"
"It's called weight distribution, prince," you laughed, stepping out of the cabinet while the crowd cheered. "Even in pixels, you can't catch me."
The playful energy of the arcade evaporated the following weekend. The time had come for the ultimate test. Niki was taking you to the absolute pinnacle of Tokyo's underground car scene, an exclusive, invitation-only meet hidden deep within an industrial shipyard container terminal.
This wasn't for the cameras or the PR teams. This was for his world.
The matte-black GT-R rumbled to a halt in the center of the yard, surrounded by heavily modified, glowing sports cars. A group of six young men stood in a loose circle, leaning against their respective vehicles. The air instantly grew tense as you stepped out of the passenger side.
Jay, Sunghoon, Heeseung, Jake, Sunoo, and Jungwon. The entire elite crew was waiting.
Niki walked around the car, standing by your side as his crew's eyes locked onto you. The driver who had torn through their ranks and broken their undefeated streak just a week ago.
"Guys," Niki said, his voice dropping its playful edge, replaced by a tone of quiet pride. "This is y/n. The one who took the crown."
The salty breeze off Tokyo Bay cut through the industrial maze of the shipyard container terminal, but the atmosphere inside the circle of modified sports cars was far more suffocating.
They didn't move. They stood like a wall of machinery and cold expressions, their eyes locked onto you, the outsider who had dared to disrupt the natural order of Tokyoâs asphalt ecosystem.
Sunghoon was the first to break the silence. He pushed himself off the hood of his pristine, icy-blue and silver sports car, his steps slow and deliberate as he crossed the gravel toward you. A sharp, mocking smile played on his lips, though his eyes remained entirely detached.
"The legend herself," Sunghoon murmured, crossing his arms over his chest. "Niki tells us you're a ghost. But underground rumors are cheap, and frankly, I don't buy the hype. If you're going to be paraded around as his 'stabilizing force,' you need to prove youâre actually good enough to stand beside him. There's a stretch of the bayside highway completely clear right now. A snap race. Just me, you, and the straightaway."
Before you could even shift your weight to respond, before your agent training could dictate the most efficient way to verbally cut him down, a shadow stepped firmly in front of you.
Niki had closed the distance, his tall frame cutting off Sunghoonâs line of sight. The playful, arrogant smirk he usually wore for the cameras was completely gone, replaced by a rigid, fiercely protective line.
"She doesn't have to prove anything to you, Sunghoon," Ni-ki said, his voice dropping into a low, authoritative register that commanded the entire shipyard. He didn't look back at you, but his shoulders were tense, blocking you from his crew's scrutiny. "If anyone is racing her on the bayside tonight, it's me."
Jay let out a low whistle from the back, a knowing smirk spreading across his face, while Jungwon casually checked his watch, sensing the shift in energy. What had started as a hostile, tense interrogation had instantly morphed into something completely different. Niki turned his head slightly, his dark eyes catching yours under the flickering industrial lights. There was a fiery challenge in his gaze, but underneath it, a desperate need to keep you entirely to himself.
"A midnight drag," Niki murmured, his voice softer now, meant only for you. "Just the two of us. Let's see if that win last week was a fluke, bullitt."
The bayside highway was a desolate, six-lane stretch of perfect asphalt cutting alongside the dark, shimmering water of the harbor. The distant lights of the Tokyo skyline blinked like scattered diamonds in your rearview mirror as your midnight-blue RX-7 and Ni-kiâs matte-black GT-R idled side-by-side at the empty toll plaza.
There were no flags. No crowds. No PR managers filming for the evening news.
When the digital light on the toll gate flashed from red to green, the silence fractured. The brutal, violent scream of your rotary engine clashed with the deep, predatory roar of his twin-turbo V6.
It wasn't just a race; it was a conversation neither of you had the courage to say out loud. Every aggressive gear shift, every synchronized lane change at two hundred kilometers per hour, was a confession. You slid your car into his slipstream, pulling up so close to his rear bumper that you could see the reflection of your own headlights in his glossy paint. Niki countered instantly, throwing his car into a violent, controlled swerve that forced you to react with split-second precision, your hands flying across the wheel in perfect harmony with his movements.
For a few blazing minutes, the crushing weight of the mafia syndicate, your dangerous double life, and the fake contract disappeared. There was only the heat of the engines and the terrifying realization that you were completely, utterly synchronized with the boy in the car beside you. You crossed the invisible finish line at the exact same millisecond, the heavy thrum of your decelerating engines echoing like a shared heartbeat against the concrete barriers.
The heavy thrum of the two idling engines slowly died down, leaving nothing but the sound of cooling metal and the distant lapping of the Tokyo Bay waves against the shipyard. Niki was the first to step out of his GT-R, running a hand through his windswept hair. He looked over the roof of his car at you, a breathless, genuine smile breaking across his face.
"A tie," he murmured, his voice carrying over the quiet docks. "I didn't think anyone in this city could match my lines perfectly on the straightaway."
"You didn't think I could," you countered, stepping out of your RX-7 and leaning against the door with a playful smirk. "Admit it, prince. You're impressed."
Before he could answer, the loud clap of hands shattered the quiet. Jay and Jake were walking over from the main container hangar, flanked by the rest of the crew. Sunghoon was shaking his head, a look of profound, newfound respect softening his usually icy expression.
"Alright, I take it back," Sunghoon said, holding his hands up in defeat. "That wasn't a fluke last week. To match Ni-ki side-by-side at those speeds? Youâre the real deal."
"We've been trying to get him to slip up for three years," Jungwon added, a rare, dimpled grin appearing as he leaned against a shipping crate. "You just did it like it was a casual Tuesday drive."
The tension that had suffocated the shipyard hours earlier completely evaporated. For the next few hours, the wall of the group crumbled into a surprisingly warm, chaotic circle. They dragged out plastic crates, cracked open cans of soda, and ordered a ridiculous amount of late-night convenience store food. Sunoo kept asking you about your car's custom suspension setup, while Heeseung debated the theoretical limits of the bayside straightaways with you.
Through it all, Niki sat right next to you. Every time you laughed at one of Jakeâs terrible jokes, you could feel Nikiâs eyes on you. Not with the calculating gaze of a rival, but with a quiet, lingering warmth that made your chest feel unusually tight.
By the time the clocks ticked past 3:00 AM, the temperature had plummeted, and everyone was visibly exhausted.
"Man, I am way too tired to drive back to Roppongi," Jay groaned, stretching his arms. "We should just crash in the shipyard loft tonight."
"Yeah, the couches up there fold out," Jake agreed, yawning. "What about you two?"
Niki looked over at you, noticing the slight shiver you were trying to hide. "We're staying. Itâs too late anyway."
The crew headed toward the main breakroom, leaving Niki to guide you up the metal staircase to the private, secondary overnight room his father kept for long stakeouts or late-night operations. It was a spacious, industrial loft with exposed brick and a massive window overlooking the harbor.
You pushed the door open, took one look inside, and froze.
"Uh-oh," you muttered.
Niki peered over your shoulder. "What do you mean, uhâoh." He stopped.
Sitting in the center of the room was exactly one bed. A large, incredibly comfortable-looking platform bed with thick, plush white blankets. The rest of the room was entirely minimalist, just a metal desk, a wardrobe, and a floor made of solid, freezing, unyielding industrial concrete. There wasn't even a rug.
"Well," you said, turning around to face him with your arms crossed, trying to hide the sudden flutter in your pulse. "The floor is definitely out of the question unless you want to wake up with hypothermia."
Niki rubbed the back of his neck, a faint, genuine flush creeping onto his cheeks that had absolutely nothing to do with the cold. The arrogant, untouchable mafia prince was suddenly looking incredibly flustered. "I, uh... I can sleep on the edge. Or I can find a spare blanket andâ"
"Don't be ridiculous, Niki," you interrupted softly, taking off your heavy leather jacket and tossing it onto the desk chair. "We're adults. And technically, according to our rules, weâre supposed to be comfortable in each other's spaces, right?"
A small, relieved smile broke through his nervousness. "Right. The rules."
You both climbed into the massive bed, keeping a careful, respectful distance between you. The sheets were incredibly warm, a stark contrast to the freezing Tokyo air outside. You lay on your back, staring up at the shadows dancing on the ceiling, the silence between you suddenly feeling very heavy, yet incredibly safe.
"Hey," Nikiâs voice broke the quiet, sounding softer than you had ever heard it.
You turned your head to look at him. He was lying on his side, his head propped up by his arm, looking down at you in the dim light of the city skyline. The smugness was completely gone.
"Thanks for tonight," he whispered. "For racing me. For hanging out with the guys. I haven't seen them laugh like that in a long time. Usually, everything around my dad's world is just... business. Heavy."
You looked at the softness in his eyes, realizing for the first time that beneath the expensive suits, the untouchable racing crown, and the terrifying family legacy, he was just a boy looking for a piece of real life. A piece of comfort. And as you looked at him, a warm, terrifyingly sweet thought settled into your mind: He could be that person for me. A real life outside the shadows.
"You're not as bad as you pretend to be, prince," you murmured, a gentle, genuine smile reaching your eyes.
Niki let out a soft laugh, shifting down so his head rested on the pillow just inches from yours. "Don't tell the crew. It'll ruin my reputation." He reached out, his hand hesitating for a fraction of a second before he gently pulled the thick blanket up over your shoulders, his fingers lightly brushing against your arm.
"Goodnight, bullitt."
"Goodnight, Ni-ki."
The high of the midnight run was completely obliterated the very next morning once you made it back to the city.
You stood once again in the high-society penthouse office of the mafia boss. The air felt heavy, stripped of all the oxygen. The older man didn't pour whiskey this time. He simply looked at a stack of data reports and public relations metrics on his desk, a satisfied, cold smile on his face.
"The contract is officially over," the Boss announced, his gravelly voice echoing off the glass walls. "The public is thoroughly satisfied. My sonâs bad image has been successfully neutralized, the corporate stocks have stabilized, and your presence is no longer required to balance his reputation. You will stage a public breakup at the Grand Prix after-party tonight. An amicable split due to demanding schedules. Then, agent, you return to the shadows."
You didn't blink. Your training kept your expression completely blank, a hollow mask of professionalism masking the sudden, sharp ache that flared in your chest. "Understood, sir.â
But Niki didn't have a professional mask to hide behind. The moment his father delivered the news, an intense, volatile anger took over him. On the drive to the Grand Prix venue, his knuckles were entirely white against the steering wheel, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles jumped. He wasn't just annoyed; he was furious that his life was being treated like a corporate chess game, and even more furious at the thought of losing the one person who actually truly understood him.
You tried to play it cool to protect your own heart, reviewing your "relationship" like a business evaluation to get under his skin, but your teasing words only fueled the fire burning inside him. His silence wasn't submissionâit was a quiet, dangerous calculation. Your complete indifference made him realize he refused to let you just walk away. If you were going to treat this like a game, he was going to rewrite the rules entirely.
The grand ballroom was a glittering sea of black ties, elegant evening gowns, and flashing press cameras. Every major media outlet in the country was focused on the stage. In the VIP section, the entirety of niki's crew stood watching, their expressions a mix of curiosity and quiet unease.
You walked up the steps toward the central microphone, looking absolutely stunning in a backless, crimson red gown. Your face was a masterpiece of detached, professional calm.
"Thank you all for coming tonight," you spoke into the microphone, your voice steady, clear, and thoroughly rehearsed. "We wanted to address the rumors directly. Due to our increasingly demanding schedules and differing career paths, Niki and I have mutually and amicably decided to end our relationship. We remain close friends and wish each other the best."
You moved to step away, expecting Niki to take the microphone, deliver his single line of agreement, and close the chapter forever.
Instead, Ni-ki completely derailed your plan. He was deeply, desperately in love with you. And he refused to let you win this game.
He stepped up to the stage, his dark eyes gleaming with an intense, fiery defiance that made the breath catch in your throat. He completely ignored the press, looking only at you as he reached into the breast pocket of his tailored tuxedo jacket. With a smooth, deliberate motion, he pulled out a small, square velvet box and dropped down onto one knee right there on the illuminated stage.
The crowd went completely, deathly silent.
Under the blinding, continuous roar of a hundred camera flashes, Niki looked up at you, his eyes wide, hopeful, and entirely exposed. "You really think you can just drive away from me, Bullitt?" he whispered, his voice trembling with a raw vulnerability that sent a wave of heat rushing through your veins. "Not a chance. Marry me. Please y/n."
Your entire world ground to a sudden, violent halt. Your jaw dropped, and your heart began to hammer against your ribs like a trapped bird. The sheer shock of his proposalâthe absolute audacity of itâthrew you completely off balance.
But then, the air in the room suddenly shifted.
Your acute, hyper-vigilant instincts, honed by years of surviving in the dark, flared to life. You felt a change in the atmosphere, a subtle, unnatural draft, a shifting pattern of shadows in the upper perimeters of the room.
Your eyes snapped away from Niki's face, tracking upward instinctively toward the dark, shadowed VIP balcony overlooking the grand ballroom. It was the exact same balcony you had pointed out to him during the corporate gala weeks before, the one you had warned him was a security blind spot.
In the deep recess of the upper curtain line, you caught a fleeting glimpse of dark movement. And then, a tiny, impossibly bright, crimson point of light pierced the darkness.
Your blood turned to absolute ice. The lethal red laser sight flickered across the stage, dancing over the floorboards before it sharply settled, resting directly over Niki's heart.
Time slowed to an agonizing crawl. The contrast was suffocating: the flashing cameras, Niki's crew watching in utter disbelief, and Niki kneeling right in front of you, completely defenseless, holding out a ring and looking up at you with nothing but pure, unconditional trust.
He had no idea.
How unfortunate.
He was completely blind to the world, just waiting for your answer.
All you could hear was the miniscule ticking of the watch on Niki's wrist.
Tick.
Reaction time was the only thing that could save this. Him.
Tick.
âwhy?â Was the question that flooded the expanse of your brain but the overwhelming feeling of love you felt for Niki was what brought you back to consciousness.
Tick.
The twist of your stance. The reach of your hands. The tear threatening to escape itâs cage on the edge of your horror filled eyes.
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Sypnosis: you were arranged to marry one of the richest family in the city- Nishimura. He was cold to you until his childhood memories gets in the way, realises it was you, you were always the one in his heart.
Warning: angst, Riki is a meanie, fluffff, kissing, suggestive, arranged marriage au, happens during edo period, mention of blood. Approx 3k
The rain in the capital did not wash away the grime; it only made the cobblestones slick and dangerous. For you, the world had always been a series of transactions. Your parents looked at you not as a daughter, but as a finely woven tapestry to be bartered away to the highest bidder.
When the arrangement with the prestigious Nishimura clan was finalized, your mother had simply handed you a heavy, ivory-colored wedding uchikake and told you not to disgrace the family name. You didn't cry. You didn't protest. Objects do not have a voice, and you had learned long ago that you were merely an object to be married off.
The Nishimura estate was staggering in its wealth. It was a sprawling compound of dark, polished wood, sliding paper shoji screens, and manicured stone gardens. But the grandest thing in it was Nishimura Riki.
He was young, impossibly tall, and carried himself with the rigid authority of a man who commanded legions. On your wedding night, he didn't even look at you. His eyes, sharp and dark as obsidian, remained fixed on the wall.
"We will sleep in separate quarters," Riki said, his voice dropping like heavy stones in the quiet room. "Do not expect a traditional marriage from me. I have no time for domestic pleasantries."
You nodded quietly, your fingers pressing into the fabric of your kimono. Quiet. Shy. Obedient. That was what you were supposed to be.
But a few days into the marriage, you tried. You had brought him a tray of evening tea, your hands trembling slightly as you set it down. As he reached for a scroll, you gathered every ounce of your courage and reached out, your smaller hand gently brushing against his, trying to hold itâtrying to be a "wife," trying to find some semblance of warmth in this frozen house.
Riki pulled his hand away instantly, as if your skin had burned him. He stood up, towering over you, his expression freezing into a glare.
"Do not mistake your presence here for a license to be familiar with me," he said coldly, his voice dripping with disdain. "Keep your distance."
The rejection felt like a physical blow. You stared at your lap, the small spark of hope inside you dying out completely. Fine, you thought, a quiet resolve settling over your spirit. You were done. You were done trying to be a wife to a man who looked at you like dirt.
From that day on, you became a ghost in his house.
You actively avoided him. It wasn't difficult in a manor so large, but the real challenge came during the mandatory evening meals. To completely erase yourself from his sight, you began telling the head maid that you were feeling unwell.
"Tell Lord Riki I am indisposed tonight," you would whisper, retreating to your small, sparsely decorated room at the far end of the estate.
At first, Riki thought nothing of it. It was normal for a fragile, cloistered girl from a wealthy family to be weak of health. But by the fourth consecutive night of staring at an empty cushion across the low dining table, a strange, unfamiliar prickle of irritationâand something else he couldn't nameâbegan to fester in his chest.
One evening, he caught you walking in the western corridor, carrying a basket of fresh linens.
"You," Riki called out, his voice cutting through the twilight.
You stopped, keeping your eyes strictly glued to the wooden floorboards. "Yes, Lord Riki?"
"The servants claim you are perpetually ill," he said, stepping closer. He looked down at you, trying to read the blank expression on your face. "Are you truly so sickly, or are you merely failing your duties?"
You didn't flinch. You didn't raise your voice. You just gave a shallow, perfectly polite bow. "I am simply fragile, my lord. Pray do not trouble yourself with my well-being. I will ensure my illness does not inconvenience your household."
Before he could speak, you walked past him, your steps silent. Riki stared at your retreating figure, his fist clenching at his side. You had brushed him off. For the first time in his life, someone had treated him like an afterthought.
The next afternoon, the heavy silence of the estate was broken by the arrival of Honoka.
Honoka was the daughter of a wealthy minister and Rikiâs childhood friend. She wore a vibrant, expensive silk kimono and walked into the reception room as if she owned it. When she saw you sitting quietly in the corner, her eyes narrowed with thinly veiled malice.
"Oh, so this is the bride your parents forced upon you, Riki-kun?" Honoka laughed, a sharp, grating sound as she fanned herself. "Sheâs so plain. And quiet. I hear she spends all her time hiding in her room. How utterly boring for you."
You kept your head down, pouring tea for her without a word. Honoka reached out, deliberately knocking her fan against your wrist, causing a few drops of hot tea to spill onto your hand. You didn't hiss in pain; you just quietly wiped it away with your sleeve.
"A proper wife should be a reflection of her husband's status," Honoka sneered, leaning in closer to you. "You look more like a servant."
Just then, the sliding door opened, and Riki stepped into the room. Honokaâs entire demeanor shifted instantly. She beamed, her voice turning sweet and syrupy.
"Riki-kun! You're finally back!"
Riki acknowledged her with a nod, sitting down across from her. As they spoke of politics and childhood memories, you noticed a distinct difference in his demeanor. He wasn't smiling, but his voice lacked the razor-sharp edge he used with you. He listened to her. He treated her like a person.
You sat there, feeling smaller than ever, realizing that his coldness wasn't a universal traitâit was reserved specifically for you. When Riki glance toward you, you deliberately shifted your gaze, looking out at the rain-soaked courtyard, completely detaching yourself from the scene.
Riki noticed. He saw the way you refused to look at him, the way your shoulders slouched into a posture of complete surrender. A strange, bitter taste settled in his mouth, and for some reason, Honokaâs endless chatter suddenly began to sound incredibly annoying.
Three nights later, the estate was plunged into total darkness. Riki had received urgent word regarding a dangerous faction operating on the borders of their territory. He had gone out with his guards to handle it, leaving the manor under heavy lockdown.
You couldn't sleep. The air felt heavy, suffocating. Sometime past midnight, you slipped out of your futon, sliding your door open to get a breath of fresh air from the veranda.
As you walked past the shadow of the back door, you heard a muffled, heavy thud.
Your breath hitched. Crouching low, you peered through the darkness. A tall figure stumbled through the rear entrance, swaying violently against the wall. It was Riki.
He was alone, his face pale under the moonlight, his breathing ragged. Your eyes widened in horror as you saw his left hand pressed tightly against his ribcage. Dark, viscous blood was leaking rapidly through his fingers, staining his black haori.
Instinct overrode your fear. You ran to him, catching his arm just as his knees began to buckle.
"Lord Riki!" you gasped, your voice a frantic whisper.
He looked up, his vision blurry, startled to see you. "Go... back to your room," he growled weakly, trying to push you away, but he had no strength left. "It is... nothing."
"Quiet," you said. For the first time, your shy, submissive tone vanished, replaced by an ironclad authority born of panic. "You are bleeding to death."
Sliding his large, heavy arm over your small shoulders, you took the brunt of his weight. Gasping for air, you dragged him down the corridor, avoiding the main halls where the servants slept, straight into your own small room.
You managed to lower him gently onto your futon. He collapsed back with a sharp groan, his forehead glistening with cold sweat.
Without wasting a second, you tore open your storage chest, pulling out clean white bandages, a basin of water, and healing salves. You knelt beside him, your hands moving with practiced efficiency. When you began to unbutton his blood-soaked robes to expose the wound, Riki caught your wrist, his grip weak but desperate.
"What are you... doing?" he panted, staring up at you with wide, vulnerable eyes.
"Saving your life," you said softly, your eyes brimming with unshed tears as you looked at the jagged sword gash along his ribs. "Please, let me."
He stared at your faceâtruly stared at it for the first time. There was no deceit in your eyes. Only pure, unadulterated worry for a man who had been nothing but cruel to you. Slowly, his fingers loosened, and his hand fell to his side.
You worked through the night. You cleaned the deep crimson blood from his pale skin, applied the soothing herbal salves, and wrapped the clean white linen bandages tightly around his torso. Your touch was so incredibly gentle, as if you were handling a piece of fragile porcelain.
By the time you were finished, the first light of dawn was peeking through the paper screens. Riki had drifted into a feverish sleep. Exhausted, your body aching, you didn't want to disturb him by getting into the bed. Instead, you curled up on the hard wooden floor, propping your back against the far wall, and let your eyes flutter shut.
When Riki woke up, the smell of incense and iron hung in the air. He blinked against the morning light, realizing the ceiling above him wasn't the one in his master bedroom. It was smaller. Simpler.
He tried to sit up, but a blinding flash of pain shot through his side, forcing a sharp gasp from his lips. He looked down and saw his chest meticulously bandaged.
Then, he saw you.
You were asleep against the wall, your knees pulled to your chest, looking incredibly small and pale in the morning light.
Riki ignored the tearing pain in his muscles and forced himself off the futon. Gritting his teeth, he slowly walked over to where you slept. He stood over you for a long moment, a storm of conflicting emotions raging in his chest. Why? Why had you helped him? He had rejected you, insulted you, and isolated you. By all accounts, you should have let him bleed out.
Slowly, almost unconsciously, Riki knelt down in front of you. His large, calloused hand reached out, his long fingers trembling slightly as he gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Your skin was warm, soft.
The subtle touch startled you. Your eyes snapped open, and your gaze met his. The moment you realized how close he was, panic seized you.
"I-I am so sorry!" you blurted out, instantly scrambling backward, your old, timid self returning in a flash. "I did not mean to offend you, I justâ"
Riki winced sharply, his hand flying to his ribs as the sudden movement tore at his stitches.
"Don't move!" you cried, forgetting your fear. You rushed forward, putting your hands on his broad shoulders to guide him back down. "You are going to rip the bindings. Please, sit still."
You quickly fetched fresh ointment and clean cloths. As you knelt between his knees, gently peeling back the blood-stained edge of the linen to check the wound, you were completely focused on your task. Your face was just inches from his chest, your sweet, clean scent filling his senses.
Rikiâs breath caught. For the first time in his life, his heart began to thud violently against his ribsâand it had absolutely nothing to do with the physical pain. He stared down at the crown of your head, a profound, overwhelming warmth blooming in his chest.
In the weeks that followed, a shift occurred in the Nishimura manor.
Rikiâs health recovered quickly, but his cold demeanor toward you had completely melted. He began to notice the small things. He noticed that you loved the small garden outside your room, even though it was overgrown and neglected.
One afternoon, you walked out to find a dozen master gardeners working on the courtyard. They were planting white camellias, weeping wisterias, and installing a beautiful stone fountain.
"Lord Riki ordered this," the head gardener told you with a bow. "He said the garden should be decorated entirely to your liking, my lady."
When you looked up at the balcony, you saw Riki standing there, watching you. For the first time, you offered him a small, genuine smile. Rikiâs chest tightened, a soft, rare smile pulling at the corners of his own lips. He realized he would do just about anything to see that smile again.
A few days later, Riki was walking past your quarters when he saw your door slightly ajar. Intrigued, he stepped quietly to the threshold.
You were sitting by the window, the afternoon sun bathing you in a golden glow. In your hands was a piece of dark indigo silk, and you were meticulously sewing an intricate, delicate pattern of silver clouds and flying cranes onto it.
Riki froze. The sight struck him like a thunderbolt, triggering a rush of memories he had buried deep in his childhood.
When Riki was a little boy, his upbringing had been ruthless. His tutors and parents had instilled a brutal mindset in him: If something breaks, it is useless. Throw it away. Weakness is a sin.
One day, after a particularly harsh training session where he had been beaten and cast out into the rain, a young Riki had hidden behind a shrine, weeping in frustration. The hem of his expensive silk kimono had been violently ripped to shreds during the fight. To him, the torn fabric was a symbol of his own uselessness. He had begun tearing at it further, hating himself.
Then, a little girl had appeared. She was quiet, shy, and wore a simple but clean kimono. She hadn't said much, but she had sat down in the dirt right next to him. Pulling out a small sewing kit from her sleeve, she had gently taken the torn hem of his kimono and begun to mend it.
She had embroidered a beautiful, crude but meaningful pattern of silver clouds over the tear, turning the broken fabric into a piece of art.
âJust because it is torn doesnât mean it is useless,â she had whispered to him, her voice like a soothing balm. âIt just needs a little care.â
That girl had saved his soul that day. She had remained in Riki's heart for over a decade. He had never gotten her name because her parents had harshly called her away before he could ask.
For years, Riki had mistakenly assumed Honoka was that girl, simply because their families ran in the same circles and Honoka had claimed she remembered playing with him at that shrine. But deep down, it never made sense. Honoka was malicious, sharp, and arrogant. She lacked the profound kindness of the girl from his memory.
But now, looking at you... looking at the exact unique stitch pattern of silver clouds and cranes...
The truth crashed over him with the weight of an ocean. It was you. It had always been you. The girl who taught him that broken things still had value was the very woman he had treated like an unwanted, broken object.
Remorse, thick and suffocating, choked him. He had been a monster to the only person who had ever shown him unconditional kindness.
That very night, you were reading by the light of a single candle when your sliding door was pushed open.
You looked up, startled to see Riki standing there, carrying his large, heavy silk duvet and pillows in his arms. His expression was dead serious, but there was a strange, frantic energy in his eyes.
"L-Lord Riki?" you stammered, standing up quickly. "What is the meaning of this?"
"I am moving into your room," he stated bluntly, stepping inside and dropping his bedding right next to yours.
Your eyes went wide. "B-But my room is far too small! It is unbefitting for the master of the house, it is cramped, andâ"
"Then we will sleep in mine," Riki interrupted smoothly. Before you could even process his words, he reached out, grabbed your hand, and literally dragged you out of the room.
He moved with incredible strength and speed, effortlessly carrying his own heavy bedding while pulling you along the corridor, completely ignoring the fact that he had been stabbed just weeks prior.
"Lord Riki, please, your wound!" you protested, your face burning red as he pulled you into his massive, luxurious master bedroom.
He shut the doors behind you, effectively trapping you in his space. "My wound is perfectly fine," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, velvety register.
That night, he placed your futons side by side. You lay there, rigid as a board, staring at the ceiling, acutely aware of his massive frame just inches away from you. You felt incredibly uncomfortable, your heart hammering against your ribs out of sheer nervousness.
Riki noticed your rigidity. He didn't force himself on you. Instead, over the next two weeks, he executed a slow, deliberate campaign of proximity.
Every night, he would roll just a fraction of an inch closer to you. During the day, he would sit beside you while you sewed, his shoulder lightly brushing against yours. When you walked through the halls, his hand would gently rest on the small of your back. Slowly, deliberately, he melted your defenses until his touch no longer made you jump. You grew used to him. You began to look forward to his warmth.
One morning, Riki looked at you with a soft glint in his eyes. "There is a summer fair in the lower district tonight. I want you to come with me."
Your heart fluttered. "A fair? Just the two of us?"
"Just us," he confirmed.
The paper lanterns lined the cobblestone path of the festival grounds like a string of fallen stars, casting a warm, amber glow over the bustling crowd.
For the first time since you had been brought to the Nishimura estate, the suffocating weight in your chest had liftedâif only for a few hours. Riki had suggested the outing out of nowhere that afternoon, his voice characteristically quiet, his eyes averted as he muttered something about "freshening up."
To your utter shock, he hadn't left you to walk three paces behind him. He stayed right by your side. Every time your eyes lingered a fraction of a second too long on a stall, he stopped. By the time the distant boom of the first firework echoed through the night sky, your hands were full of small trinketsâa delicate wooden hairpin carved with plum blossoms, a small pouch of your favorite sweet bean candies, and a painted fan.
When the night sky erupted into a brilliant cascade of indigo and gold, painting the contours of his sharp profile in vibrant light, Riki had turned to look at you. Slowly, deliberately, his large, calloused hand slid down to find yours. His fingers tangled with your smaller ones, his grip firm but incredibly gentle.
You had frozen, your face instantly burning a furious shade of crimson that rivaled the red fireworks exploding above. When you peeked up at him, you caught the dark flush creeping up the back of his neck, his jaw clenched as he stared resolutely ahead, refusing to let go.
But as the festival ended and the crowd began to thin, the cold reality of your life rushed back like a tidal wave.
Walking back along the quiet, shadowed path toward the estate, the silence between you felt heavy. You stared at the back of his dark haori, your heart twisting into a painful knot. Why is he doing this? the dark, cruel voice of your past whispered in your ear. It's just pity. Heâs the commander of the imperial forces. He is just playing the part of a dutiful husband out of obligation. Tomorrow, the illusion will shatter, and he will remember how worthless you are.
The thoughts spiraled, feeding on years of neglect, until a quiet sob choked its way out of your throat.
You stopped dead in your tracks. The small paper bag of candies slipped from your fingers, spilling onto the dirt road.
Riki stopped instantly. He turned around, his eyes widening slightly as he saw you. You were trembling, your hands pressed over your face as hot, heavy tears streamed down your cheeks, your shoulders shaking with the force of a breakdown you had been holding back for months.
"Hey," Rikiâs voice lost all of its usual commanding edge. It sounded panicked. Frightened, even. "What's wrong? Did someone say something to you at the stalls? Are you hurt?"
"I'm sorry," you gasped out, your voice cracking as you shrank in on yourself. "I'm sorry I'm so pathetic. You don't have to do this, Riki. You don't have to pretend to care about someone like me. I know you must hate having me here... I know I'm just a burden to you..."
Riki closed the distance between you in a single, swift stride.
Before you could apologize again, you were pulled forward. Your face pressed against the sturdy, solid warmth of his chest, and his strong arms wrapped completely around you. He held you so tightly it took your breath away, one of his large hands coming up to cradle the back of your head, pressing you into his collarbone.
"Stupid," he muttered, his voice thick with a sudden, raw emotion. He sounded deeply, profoundly regretful. "You absolute fool... how could you think that?"
You felt the tremor in his own chest as he spoke, his chin resting against the top of your head.
"I don't hate you," Riki whispered fiercely into your hair, his grip tightening as if he were terrified you would vanish if he let go. "I have never hated you. If I'm quiet, it's because I don't know how to talk to someone so precious without breaking them. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I made you feel this way."
You cried into his chest until your tears ran dry, enveloped in a warmth you had never known in your entire life. And for the first time, as he walked you home with his arm securely wrapped around your waist, you permitted yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, you were safe.
A few days later, a new kind of anxiety took root.
Riki had briefly informed you that he was required to attend a formal imperial banquetâa business gathering where all the high-ranking officers and clan heads brought their wives. It was your first public appearance as the Lady of the Nishimura house.
Early that morning, the head maid, Yurie, entered your quarters followed by three servants carrying a massive, lacquered wooden box. When they lifted the lid, you gasped.
Nestled inside was a breathtakingly beautiful kimono. It was made of the finest, heaviest silk, dyed a deep, midnight blue that gradiented into a soft, ethereal mist at the hem. Embroidered across the fabric were delicate silver cranes and spider lilies that seemed to catch the light with every movement. A crimson obi, rich and stiff, sat beside it.
"The Commander picked the fabric himself," Yurie said, a knowing, affectionate smile on her face. "He was very particular about the color matching your eyes."
When you were finally dressed, your hair pinned up with the very wooden hairpin he had bought you at the fair, you stepped out onto the veranda.
Riki was waiting, dressed in his formal, dark military uniform, his gloved hands resting on the hilt of his sword. Hearing your footsteps, he turned around.
The young commander froze. His breath visibly hitched, his sharp eyes widening as his gaze swept over you. From the elegant slope of your neck to the way the midnight silk hugged your frame, you looked like a goddess stepped out of an ancient painting. For a long, agonizingly beautiful moment, Riki couldn't speak. A deep, dark flush crept up his cheeks, and he quickly cleared his throat, pulling at his stiff collar.
"You look..." Riki swallowed, his voice dropping an octave, his gaze intense enough to make your knees weak. "...unbelievably beautiful. Let's go."
As you walked toward the entrance of the estate, a sharp voice cut through the quiet morning air.
"Riki!"
You both stopped. Standing near the carriage was Honoka, a daughter of a prominent allied clan who had long assumed she would be the one chosen to marry the commander. She was dressed in a lavish, bright pink kimono, but her face was twisted in an ugly scowl.
"What is she doing here?" Honoka demanded, pointing a manicured finger at you, her eyes flashing with venom. "Youâre taking her to the imperial gathering? Riki, sheâs a nobody! Her family is disgraced. You promised my father we would strengthen our tiesâeveryone expects me to be on your arm tonight!"
The air around Riki turned instantly sub-zero. The gentle, flustered boy from a moment ago vanished, replaced by the terrifying, cold Commander Nishimura.
He didn't even look at Honoka. Instead, he stepped sideways, deliberately blocking you from her sight, shielding you completely with his broad shoulders.
"My arrangements with your father are strictly military, Honoka," Riki said, his voice dropping into a dangerously low, chilling register. "Who I bring to my side is my concern. And this is my wife. If you speak to her, or look at her with such disrespect again, I will consider it an insult to the entire Nishimura clan. Leave. Now."
Honoka turned pale, her lower lip trembling in rage and humiliation before she spun on her heel and stormed away.
Riki exhaled slowly, the tension leaving his shoulders as he turned back to you. His expression softened instantly, his hand gently reaching out to touch your cheek. "Don't listen to her," he murmured. "You are the only one who belongs next to me."
The banquet hall was magnificent, filled with the elite of the capital, but the moment you and Riki walked through the grand doors, a hush fell over the room.
You were dazzling. The quiet, fragile elegance you possessed, combined with the breathtaking kimono Riki had chosen, made it impossible for anyone to look away. Whispers rippled through the crowd. Men leaned in to ask who the stunning woman beside the young commander was, their eyes lingering on your face, your smile, the gentle curve of your shoulders.
Riki noticed within five seconds.
His jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. The grip he had on your waist tightened significantly, pulling you flush against his side. Every time a young officer stepped forward to try and strike up a conversation with you, Riki would step in, his dark, fox-like eyes narrowing into a glare so lethal and possessive that the men would pale, stammer an excuse, and quickly flee.
"Riki?" you whispered, looking up at him as he practically growled at a passing minister who had stared a second too long. "Are you alright?"
"We're leaving," he muttered, his eyes dark and burning with an emotion you couldn't quite place. He quickly drained his third cup of sake, his movements sharp. "Too many people are looking at you. I don't like it."
Before you could argue, he was leading you out of the hall, his hand gripping yours tightly.
The carriage ride back was silent, but the atmosphere inside the small wooden carriage was thick with tension. Riki sat close to youâcloser than usual. The subtle scent of sake drifted from him, mixing with his usual scent of cedarwood and crisp winter air. He was slightly drunk, his usual rigid composure loosened by the alcohol and the simmering jealousy that had plagued him all evening.
When you finally reached the privacy of your shared estate, Riki dismissed the servants immediately.
As the sliding doors of your bedchamber clicked shut, you turned around to ask him if he needed some water, but you were instantly cut off. Riki caught you by the waist, his movements slightly clumsy but incredibly heavy, pressing you gently but firmly against the wooden sliding door.
"R-Riki?" your breath hitched.
He was breathing heavily, his head dropping onto your shoulder. He felt warm, a bit uncoordinated, and incredibly clingy. His arms wrapped around your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.
"Mine," he mumbled, his voice thick and slurred with sleepiness and intoxication. "They kept looking at you. I wanted to cut their eyes out. You're my wife. Mine."
Your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird. "Riki, you're drunkâ"
"I'm not," he protested weakly, pulling his head back.
His eyes were hooded, dark, and filled with a desperate, heavy longing. He looked down at your lips, his chest heaving. Slowly, hesitantly, as if asking for permission he didn't know how to voice, he leaned down.
When his lips touched yours, the world stopped.
It was your very first kiss. It started hesitant, soft, and slightly sweet from the sake, but as you let out a soft gasp against his mouth, Riki groaned deep in his throat. The restraint he had practiced for months snapped. He tilted his head, his lips pressing harder, deeper, parting yours with a desperate hunger.
His hands moved from your waist to cup your face, his long fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you impossibly closer. You melted against him, your hands gripping the fabric of his uniform for dear life as the kiss deepened into a breathless, dizzying make-out session, the heat between you melting away every ounce of residual doubt. He tasted like wine and warmth, his kisses worshipful yet fiercely possessive.
When he finally pulled away, both of your lips were flushed and swollen. Riki rested his forehead against yours, his eyes half-closed, a lazy, completely content smile tugging at the corner of his lips before he pulled you toward the futon.
The next morning, the soft, golden light of dawn filtered through the paper screens.
You blinked your eyes open, a gentle warmth enveloping your entire body. When you tried to move, you realized you couldn't.
Riki was awake, but he hadn't let you go. You were pulled flush against his bare chest, his strong arms locked securely around your waist, holding you in a tight, protective embrace. His chin was resting on your head, and when he felt you shift, his grip only tightened, a low, sleepy rumble vibrating in his chest.
"Stay," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. He opened his eyes, looking down at you with a softness that made your chest ache with happiness. He didn't look embarrassed about the night before; he looked incredibly proud.
From that day on, everything shifted. The cold formality of the estate completely thawed. You were no longer strangers living under the same roof. You ate breakfast together, laughing softly as Riki complained about his training schedules. He would hold your hand openly in front of the servants, and he took every opportunity to press quick, sweet kisses to your temple or your cheek when no one was looking. You were, in every sense of the word, a true husband and wife.
A few weeks later, the night sky was perfectly clear, dusted with a brilliant blanket of infinite stars.
You and Riki sat on the edge of the engawa, your legs dangling over the yard, a single lantern burning low behind you. The cool night breeze rustled the leaves of the maple trees.
Riki was uncharacteristically quiet, his eyes fixed on the glittering expanse above. He reached over, sliding his fingers through yours, pulling your hand into his lap.
"When you first arrived," Riki started softly, his voice cutting through the quiet chirp of the crickets, "I knew what your family had done to you. I saw how you wouldn't look me in the eye. How you expected me to strike you or throw you away."
You looked at him, your heart swelling.
Riki turned his head, his dark eyes reflecting the starlight, looking deeper into your soul than anyone ever had. "I swore to myself that night that I would become someone you could lean on. But I was clumsy. I didn't know how to show you that you were everything I ever wanted."
He shifted, turning his body fully toward you, taking both of your hands in his.
"I love you," Riki confessed, the words falling from his lips with absolute, unwavering certainty. "Not because of duty, and not because of an arrangement. I love you for your resilience, your kindness, and the way you made this cold house feel like a home. You are my wife, and as long as I draw breath, no one will ever hurt you again."
Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but this time, they weren't born of sadness. They were tears of pure, unadulterated relief.
"I love you too, Riki," you whispered.
Riki smiledâa true, brilliant smile that reached his eyesâand leaned in. Under the witness of a thousand stars, his lips met yours in a slow, deep, and beautifully tender kiss, cementing a future that was entirely, beautifully yours.
Sypnosis: fans have been noticing something going on between both of your groups, starting from the collab, fan have already gone crazy about you two, continuing with stoling glances? Oh you guys are the top trending topic now.
Warnings: none? Fluff mainly:)
Playlistđ§: Orange flower- enhypen
Off the record- Ive
Cupid- Daphnie
Collision- straykids
Tokyo flash- vaundy
đa/n: sorrryđđđ this one took a bit long and pls ignore my Sypnosis itâs not written so wellđ„Č, anyways again I hope you enjoyyyyyy
The internet called it the "Line Distribution of Love," and for the past three weeks, you hadn't been able to live it down.
As the leader, main producer, and co-choreographer of the five-member girl group VIVID, you were used to intense scrutiny. But when JYP entertainment announced that you and your groupmate Misa were collaborating on ENHYPENâs latest comeback trackâyou handling the production and a portion of the choreography, and Misa co-choreographing the heavy performance aspectsâyou knew eyes would be on you.
What you didnât expect was just how much your inner fangirl would manifest in the audio mix.
Ever since ENHYPEN debuted, you had been a quiet but dedicated fan of theirs. And Ni-ki, their youngest, had never been shy about his admiration for you. In almost every interview where he was asked about role models or artists he wanted to work with, your name came out of his mouth.
"VIVID's music is incredible, but their leader's production style? It's genius. I study her dancing all the time," he had said during a recent live stream, ears turning slightly pink.
So, when you were in the studio producing their title track, you might haveâtotally objectively, of courseârealized that Ni-kiâs deep tone was absolutely perfect for the killing parts. You gave him the intro, the center chorus breakdown, and a glaringly prominent bridge.
When the song dropped, the fandom immediately pulled out the stopwatch.
@jaywon_core: Wait... Ni-ki usually gets a solid 12-15 seconds. VIVID's leader just handed him 35 seconds of pure center time and the killing part. SHE SEES HIM.
@enha_vivid: The dots are connecting. He praises her in interviews for a year, she produces their track, and suddenly he's the main character of the album. Iâm screaming.
The real chaos, however, happened at the year-end GDA (Golden Disc Awards).
The backstage hallways were crowded with idols, staff, and security. VIVID had just finished their pre-recording, and you were walking back to your waiting room, flanked by Misa and your three other members. You were still in your stage outfitsâheavy glitter, sleek styling, looking every bit the formidable seniors you were.
Coming from the opposite direction was ENHYPEN.
As the distance closed, you put on your polite, professional senior smile. Jay and Jungwon immediately bowed politely, greeting you and your members. You bowed back, saying, "Great job on the pre-recording earlier!"
But as you stepped past them, the professional facade of ENHYPEN completely fractured.
Heeseung and Jake immediately turned their heads to look at Ni-ki, identical, teasing grins plastering their faces. Sunghoon covered his mouth, clearing his throat loudly to stifle a laugh, while Sunoo literally nudged Ni-ki hard in the ribs with his elbow.
Ni-ki, who usually looked like a cool, unbothered giant on stage, completely froze. His eyes darted from you, to his members, to the floor, his entire face turning a violent shade of crimson.
"Be professional, hyungs," Ni-ki hissed under his breath, though it was loud enough for you and Misa to catch.
Misa bit her lip, shooting you a wicked smirk the second you walked past them. "Oh, he's got it bad," she whispered, nudging your shoulder. "And you aren't helping by making him the center of the universe in their choreography."
"It was artistically necessary for the performance, Misa," you whispered back, your own cheeks burning as you reached your dressing room.
Later that evening, during the live broadcast, the fan cams caught everything.
VIVID was called up to accept the Bonsang Award. As you stood up from your artist seat, the camera panned across the crowd, capturing ENHYPENâs table. While the rest of the members were clapping politely, Jungwon and Heeseung were actively leaning over, whispering something to Ni-ki and pointing at the big screen. Ni-ki was desperately trying to look stoic, clapping with a stiff, hyper-focused intensity, utterly refusing to look at his members who were clearly teasing him about his "crush" walking by.
By midnight, the edit was trending #2 worldwide on X.
After the show concluded, the venue began to empty out. You told your members to head to the van first while you went back to the artist lounge to grab your forgotten iPadâthe one containing all your current lyric drafts.
The lounge was mostly empty, save for one tall figure standing by the beverage fridge.
Ni-ki.
He turned around, a bottle of water in his hand, and froze when he saw you. Without his members around to buffer him, he looked suddenly younger, a bit shy, but incredibly striking in his velvet award-show suit.
"Oh, sunbaenim," he said quickly, bowing. "Good job tonight. Congratulations on the Daesang."
"Thank you, Riki," you said, using his real name gently to ease the tension as you picked up your iPad from the table. "You guys did amazing, too. The performance for the track Misa and I worked on? You absolutely killed the center breakdown."
Ni-kiâs eyes widened slightly, a genuine, bright smile breaking through his shyness. "Really? Thank you. I practice that specific part every day. I didn't want to ruin the choreography you and Misa-ssi made."
"You didn't ruin it at all. Honestly, when I was writing the track, I could only hear your voice for that section," you admitted, offering him a warm, candid smile. "The fans seem to like it, too. Though... I think your members are teasing you a bit too much about it."
Ni-ki groaned softly, burying his face in his hands for a brief second before looking back at you, a playful but embarrassed look in his dark eyes. "They are being unbearable. Jungwon hyung hasn't stopped singing your verse to me all week. Iâm sorry if itâs making you uncomfortable, sunbaenim."
"It doesn't make me uncomfortable at all," you said, taking a step closer. You dropped your voice slightly, a teasing glint in your eyes. "Actually... I should probably confess. Iâve been a big fan of ENHYPEN for a long time. So when I gave you those lines, it wasn't just professional. I just really wanted to see you shine."
Ni-ki stared at you, his breath hitching slightly. The confident main dancer of ENHYPEN was completely speechless, his ears turning a bright, telling pink once again.
"You... you're a fan?" he managed to ask, his voice dropping a register.
"A big one," you smiled, turning toward the door as your manager texted you that the van was ready. "Keep working hard, Riki. I'm already thinking about the next track I want to produce for you guys. See you at the next music show."
You gave him a small wave and walked out into the hallway. As the door clicked shut behind you, you could hear a muffled, excited thump from inside the lounge, followed by a very distinct, breathless, "Yes!"
You couldn't help but laugh, pulling your coat tighter around yourself. The internet was definitely going to have a field day with the next comeback.
Six months after the Golden Disc Awards, the internetâs theories hadn't died downâthey had evolved.
VIVID and ENHYPEN had just wrapped up a massive, JYPx HYBE, SMTOWN-style global concert in Tokyo. The stage collaborations had been legendary, but the real chaos started during the post-concert tradition: the late-night Instagram floods.
As the leader, you posted a carousel of behind-the-scenes photos on VIVIDâs official account. It started normal enough: a group shot of the five members, a selfie with Misa backstage covered in glitter, and a photo of the massive Tokyo Dome crowd.
But it was the final slide that caused the entire K-pop fandom to melt down.
It was a simple, aesthetically pleasing picture taken inside a Tokyo record shop. The focus was on a vintage vinyl display, but in the lower left corner of the frame, two hands were resting on the wooden counter. One hand was yours, holding a coffee cup. Overlapping it slightly was a much larger hand with long, slender fingers, wearing a very distinct, heavy silver chrome ring.
You didn't tag anyone. The caption was just a simple: "Thank you, Tokyo! ăăăăšăæ±äșŹ! "
Within ten minutes, the internet had done its detective work.
@vivid_4ever: HOLD ON. LOOK AT SLIDE 5. CHROME RING. THE EXACT SHAPE OF THE FINGERS. GUYS.
@heejake_squad: Iâm not saying anything but Ni-ki wore that exact silver ring during his airport arrival three days ago. And look at the sleeve of the black hoodie in her pic... it's the brand he always wears. THEY ARE COFFEE DATING IN TOKYO?!
The comments section was completely on fire, but neither you nor your agency said a word.
Exactly one hour later, Ni-ki posted on his weverse account. He uploaded a series of black-and-white photos of himself dancing during soundcheck, looking incredibly cool. But, true to his cheeky nature, his final slide was where the "soft launch" became undeniable.
It was a mirror selfie taken in a dim elevator. He was wearing his signature oversized black hoodie and the silver ring. Resting casually on his shoulder was a head of hair that perfectly matched your current comeback color, though the face was hidden behind a phoneâa phone sporting the exact custom-designed VIVID staff pop-socket that Misa had gifted you the week before.
His caption? A single emoji: đ§
Back in the hotel suite, you were curled up on the bed, scrolling through the absolute madness on X . The fans were going feral, connecting the two posts with side-by-side grids, completely losing it over how flawlessly subtleâyet entirely loudâthe confirmation was.
Misa walked past your bed, tossing a bag of snacks onto your lap. "You two are absolute menace material, you know that right? The company PR team is probably sweating, but the engagement numbers are legendary."
"We didn't say anything official," you laughed, locking your phone as it buzzed.
A text message lit up the screen.
Riki đ€: Jay-hyung just showed me the edits the fans made of our posts. Theyâre calling us 'The Production Couple.'
You smiled, tossing the blankets off and walking over to the hotel room door. When you opened it, Ni-ki was standing there, the silver ring catching the hallway light as he raised a plastic bag with a grin.
He stepped inside, kicking the door shut with his heel, and immediately pulled you into a warm, grounding hug.
"Good job on the soft launch, sunbaenim," he murmured into your hair, his voice deep and full of affection.
"You too," you teased, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "Next time, we might actually have to hold hands in the photo."
Ni-kiâs eyes sparkled with that familiar, mischievous glint. "Let's do it on the next comeback. Give the internet something real to talk about."
Summary: you and Riki had known eachother forever. You guys persosnalities are basically polar opposites. Everyone wants him but no one wants you, except Riki. Riki is so down bad for you, little did he know you also have a crush on him.
Warnings: swearing, fluffy fluffy fluff
Playlistđ§: one and only- boynextdoor
Xo(only if you say yes)- enhypen
Cherish (my love)- illit
Next 2 u- Ohyul of lngshot and Louis of lngshot
đa/n: Hii this is my first fic, English is not my first languageđ anyways I hope you enjoy it pls like and repostđ leave a comment if you enjoyed itđ
You and Riki had always been friends since childhood. Both of you had seen each others most embarssing side. He had always been the tall, popular, nonchalant boy which every girl is attracted to, but you? You were the polar opposite of him; you were introverted, quiet, and definitely not popular. It has always been like this since kindergarten.
Now that you are in high school, it seems that itâs hard for you to blend in with the girls in your class. Well of course Riki is friends with everyone. You are so so quiet in class with almost no one that notices your prescense. Well atleast you have a friend in your classâ Rei. She is supportive and kind and loves socialising and extroverted⊠just everything you wish you were.
Although Riki is always occupied with his clubs and things. He still manages to find time to see you. After lessons ended, he always rushes to your classroom before you leave; every morning heâll always walk you to school; he would talk to you whenever he gets a chance. However, some popular girls hated you for that. They hate that you always get all rikiâs attention since Riki never cares about any girl but you. There could be SWARMS of girls circling around him jus to give him love letters. He never reads them anyways.
Lately Riki has found himself constantly thinking about you, he thinks that itâs what normal friends doâŠright? Whenever you pass by, his eyes always spots you; whenever he thinks about you, a wide smile spread across his face, his friends always teases him about it.
â Who are you thinking about huh Nishimura Riki?â Jay said while giggling.
âHuh.. what are you talking aboutâ Riki respond while his ears are getting red.
âRiki your ears are getting red you knowâ jungwon chuckled and Riki immediately covers his ears.
âBet heâs thinking about Y/NNIEâ jay YELLED. Couple girls heard it and were mad.
âHYUNG JUST SHUT UP!â Riki got so embarrassed that his whole face went red.
Riki is SO down bad for you, he would buy flowers every single day for you, he would study stupid dad jokes at night just to see your smile. Sometimes when guys gets too close to you or literally just talking to you, his protective and possessive side shows, and you love how cute he is doing that. And literally the whole entire freaking school knew he has a thing for youâ even the teachers know. He would be dropping hints here and there, you noticed, you like him too but you just donât know if heâs doing that because he also likes you or just being friendly.
Well things arenât too good with you here, the popular girls has been bothering you lately. At first you thought they were just playing around , but things go down in a turn. You realise that recently your notes And pens had been missing, you knew it was them, you were too scared to report them.
As you are about to leave the classroom to meet Riki, one of the girlsâsamara walks towards you, ây/n, if you keep approaching Riki, Iâll make sure to let you know the consequencesâ she stared at you with a dangerous look. As she walks out Riki walks in, you saw Riki and decided that you are gonna keep some distance from him.
âHey, do you wannaââ
âSorry I..I have tutoring todayâ you cut off his speech and leave the classroom.
Riki stands there, in silence, he donât know what happend.
Back in rikiâs room, he had been roaming for the whole night, completely ignoring his mumâs yell. Did I do something wrong? Why did she avoid me?, she never did that. These questions had been circling around his head for hours already. He is absolutely fustrated. Should he give you flowers? Or sweets? Never mind, these are just gonna make her feel more uncomfortable, he thought.
The next the day at school, you are trying to avoid Riki as long as you can, however you can see him everywhere. Suddenly someone pulls your arm and dragged you to the bathroom. It was samara and her friends.
âLook I already kept distances, just let me go-â
âOh come on y/n, do you actually believe me? You bitch is dating him right?â Samara said, walking closer to you and pushing your shoulders. You tried to explain yourself but gets cut off again.
âIf it wasnât you I wouldnât get rejected!â Samara said angrily. And suddenly she slaps you, âthatâs what you deserves bitchâ.
Riki outside, heard the voices in the girlâs bathroom, well he was deciding to go in.
âRIKI, you canât go in, itâs girlâs bathroom are you blind or what?â Jay whispered angrily.
âDonât care. Y/n is in thereâ Riki responded in the most nonchalant way and left a shock on jayâs face.
Riki came in and saw you, his instincts immediately pulls you behind him, while your palm is hovering above your face which still stings from the slap.
âBoyfriend behaviour huhâ samara snickered in the most annoying way.
âYes boyfriend behaviour exactlyâ Riki responded without hesitation.
He pulled you out from the bathroom, and decided you guys were gonna have a chat in the corridor.
âAre you okay? Are you hurtâ Riki worried.
âYes Iâm fineâ
âIs that why you ignored me? Because samara was threatening you?â He asked in a slightly furious tone.
You didnât respond and looked to the ground so he assumed that was a yes.
âYou know you couldâve told me, I wouldâve done anything to protect you, y/nâ his voice turned soft.
âRiki.â You looked at him genuinely. You started to think that he actually likes you, base on what he said in the bathroom.
His eyes went from looking at you to your lips. He was going insane. âScrew itâ he leaned in and kissed you softly and cupped your cheeks. You stand on your tippy toes and kissed him back. He was savouring every single moment of that.
âI KNEW IT!â The pe teacher yelled. Riki pulled back first, stared at everyone, and made them leave with his sharp eye contacts.
Both of you chuckled, he looked at you like you were the most precious thing ever.
âBet samaraâs superrrr jealousâ you said while giggling.
â now that Iâm your boyfriend, I would protect you and no one would ever steal me away from youâ he held your hand tightly while saying that proudly.
âWhen did I agree with you?â You asked as a joke.
âSince foreverâ he answered as the proudest boyfriend ever.
He held your hand and walk towards the classroom as heâs about to announce that you guys are dating to everyone.
âI love youâ he said as his ear turn red.
âLove you tooâ you answered, his ears became so much redder now.
